Slipped Away

The world, for him, has slipped away.
He sold it for some bits of string:
It hasn’t hit him – not today –
That he’s devoid of everything

That gave his life some meaning, and
Could build a house of more than sand;
Instead, he chases his ideal
And gives up all he has
That’s real

The Moon Is Not A Terrorist

The moon is not a terrorist; in fact,
She often visits both the poor and sick.
Although she has a schedule that is packed,
And often deals with clouds that can be thick,
She’s regular. And knowing that’s the trick:
The moon is true, not subject to caprice,
And that should bring no fear, but only peace.

The moon is not a soldier or a spy;
She does not aim to kill, or try to steal.
The moon’s a corporeal lullaby,
A friend, though far away, who’s very real,
Who gives your very goodnight a words her seal.
As children know, once sung their fav’rite tune,
It’s time to sleep when they hear “Goodnight, Moon”