Looking up, the pink moon rises over the North Sea and it hits me- this spot, this arresting moment is what I’ve been waiting for. Longing with anticipation eats away at such glorious living moments.
I’m like a thread, frayed at the end. Broken, because I lost a trusted friend.
I reflect as I view the past:
Forever have I held my tongue,
O’er fear I shall attack you,
Rather than confront the past.
Goodbye dear friend, know that you did this to yourself.
Pretty little thing with your colorful petals,
I heard a storm was coming- cover up;
Don’t let them all notice the way,
the thunder causes your body to shake.
Or the way your petals snap in two,
when the heavy drops of the rain fall-
and put a damper on the cracked concrete
that you grow in
And I pray, inclined to the retired hues of sandhills,
The moon had lowered its light to my hands,
As though I was passed by its shadow, never forgotten,
When the dark dusk covers the squill, a pack of doctrines
Laid memory in sight, emaciated by the mercy,
The cries caressed my overlapped palms to the words I impart
As these alone could not touch me.