A Selenophile’s Confession


The moon is the keeper of whispers.
The moon is the deity to the souls of the romantic.
The moon is the light for the desperate and relentless.

Unlike the sun, it won’t hurt your eyes with its brilliance
It’ll let you stare at it’s imperfections.
It’ll let you stare at it’s vulnerability as it waxes and wanes.

When the world sleeps, she’ll raise her head to guide the adrift.
When the world sleeps, she’ll raise her head to luster,
Luster for those who seek beauty in the darkness,
For those who are willing to gaze into the abyss above our heads.

The moon is not afraid
Of the dark.
     Of the void.
Of the fear.
And neither should you.



Don’t you dare touch her, boy.
She is water.
Her eyes imitate the abyss of the mighty oceans combined.
And that abyss isn’t afraid to stare right back.
So don’t you dare plunge into her soul
For she’ll whip up a storm from the ripples you make.
And as you try to grasp at her being,
She’ll slip right through your fingers.


Writer’s Splash (6)


Keep me where the world glorifies the greatest
Find me where the heartless don’t dare
Consume me to feel what the world isn’t made to be
Leave me …
Well. Leave me to pretend that it’s always fair.

The world is cracking its glass. The mighty are falling from their grace. The countries are tumbling into war. For hell’s sake, somebody pass me the goddamn  duct tape and let’s fix this mess… Okay?