letters to the moon [poetry]

tuesday

tuesday,
like the thousand before,
or the thousand before
your eyes

tasting that dread
hope of salvation
from the ocean
to the sky

still, i dream,
stealing visions from girls
who easily forget
that he never really mattered
he never really cared

and i haven't either,
not in his waking hours.

freedom,
and a solitary life,
the last sane wish
of a master
whose life ended
nearly a decade ago.

with unkempt promises,
unfulfilled wishes,
and the blueprints of a smile
that could charm the
devil himself
into believing
or lure him into church.

time,
that thieving legend
that blooms flowers
and turns sexy youth
into old,
frail things
we end up turning our eyes
away from

why?
why did you let us
down again?

weren't we also
cautious?
didn't we taste as
sweet?

and then,
as tortured day
bleeds
into tortured day,
there's that one main
picture of you
burned into my minds eye

you,
with your uncanny longing
and innocent words
for whom
the thousand battered
miles to my heart
seemed but
a sunday walk,
and you traveled that path
daily, until you knew
the twists and turns
as well as one knows the route
to my bed
in the dark.

you thought that was love.
that it proved something to me.

always hoping,
against the brutal truth,
that your pain
and devotion
would
or could
open my eyes.

like i would open my eyes for love.
never for love.

that single minded
psychopath,
who dances on the
ruffles of young girls' dresses
and fills their stomachs
with poisonous butterflies

no,
his elixir is madness
and his tools are cruel

he is no friend to the dreamer
who sees his world
in could's,
or should's,
in what if,
in there.

i could never change for love.

his hand is filled with a
yearning
that cannot be satisfied.
his kiss,
a thirst that cannot quench.

no, dreamers have no
patience for love.
and so,
you never reached me.

lie melted into lie
until your own heart
became as fragile as mine,
and you hid it away
in a place i would never
be able to find it.