Lunescape

what can be
and what will converge
over time.
 
different timing
can feel like
difference in kind –
 
time circles
over and around
and through us,
 
like a creature we
draw, having
never really seen it,
 
we claim to
understand, but we
can’t, really.


the wound was so fresh,
touching it
was hard to resist.
 
she struggled
against the desire
to worsen
 
a situation
bad enough
in its essentials.
 
but what was
of most importance
just got lost.
 
her father’s lessons
only lived
in fainter echoes,
 
surrounded
by these new trappings
and sheer noise.


he was young, strong, and
very vain;
which didn’t work out,
 
unless you
think faceless women
mean success.
 
but he was envied,
mostly by
quiet decent men,
 
who wear their
decency only
from weakness;
 
or perhaps, from their
better selves,
often regretted.


the moon glows
because of what all
comes to it.
 
light, being issued,
will go where
its nature takes it,
 
as we must,
bound as we are by
our purlieus.
 
what can be
and what will converge,
over time,
 
across space and with
some degree
of finality –
 
or at least
what must seem final
to humans

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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