this midnight’s misting moonlight
and Jupiter’s round pregnancy
her three children, birthed
now aligned
shine their alabaster dust
upon this place
tho knowing
that darkness
had arrived
before their wishful light
aye, always existing–
tho knowing well
this place
inside the heart of a man
of which
no lovely lies
are ever penned
and of those many other
words written
thousands, millions
each, only standing
as feather-hat sentries
pristine, red-uniform statues
tall guards at the periphery
encircling
each, a chipped-stone pillar
of a dungeon cell
a man, a poet
if there be such things
exists
somewhere in the damp shadows
of this place
eating these rats
that crawl, and bite
returning each to its home
the others, drawing close
claws screeching upon stone
tho staying
out of reach
their eyes aglow
black coals
lit afire
reflecting Jupiter’s three moons
tho none may touch this place
none– may touch this place
those daring
those curious lovers
and those aspiring
shall find a depth
into which
each falls–
for years
for decades
never finding an end
never knowing
a broken-body
finality
no, none may touch this place
none– may touch this place
Now I wanna touch! 😀
How are you, Eric? I haven’t seen you in a while.
Oh, I’m still kickin’ around 😉 I hope you’ve been well.
I’m glad to see you. I’ve been good, thanks. 🙂
Oh yes. This place.
I’m glad to read you.
Thank you 🙂 Happy Friday.
Damn good writing. ?
Thank you so much. I appreciate you reading this.
Welcome. ?
If you’re not already published, I believe you should be.
Toni, thank you. I appreciate your sincerity.
To think that such beauty comes from such a dark and lonely place… Amazing! A poet’s soul is a deep and wondrous space that none shall ever fully explore, no matter how “prolific” (s)he be…
Please keep chasing those “rats”… You inspire me…
🙂
Lisa, thank you again. I’m honored and flattered that you read so closely.