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Waxing; Waning;

Poetry By: air

explains itself? maybe? ^_^

Submitted:Aug 31, 2008    Reads: 200    Comments: 17    Likes: 14   

I wane perplexed by the rising sun

had it already begun?


Mystified, I am speechless

but not dumbfounded

for I know all too well

the waxing ways of the moon

which clings to my innermost.


No, it had not finished with me.


The scorching rays of the sun

beating rhythms down to my bones.

The innermost will not accord

and waxing fires have just begun

alas the moon is not yet done.


Will it always be the falling sun

that captures my senses, every one?

I'd dive with it to die in pleasure

not to be captured by the moon again

and it's desires that clench my throat,

casting the spiral down,

where ghosts are hid,

and nothing is forbid.


Dormant notions;

scattered and dusty old promises;

search only to find imposters of the flame.

Nothing is lost and all is emptied

under plight.


Store housing matter, the moon is in luck

and is able to live another day.



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