The moon is alone in the sky

The moon has a sad face tonight,

It’s all alone in the dark

Watching people close their eyes,

Always oblivious to its beauty.

It wonders why people enjoy light

And open their eyes to it each morning,

But come inside and sleep at night.

The moon is alone in the sky

While we, too, are alone, sleeping

Until the sun wakes up.

Just the same old poem

Howls into the cold moon

And whispers into the warm sun.

I always find myself in the dark

Writing the same old poem.

Wishing for freedom

And dreaming of change,

But running out of words to say it.

When everyone’s fast asleep

I sit and wait for the night.

Because what sounds sane then,

Usually isn’t in the morning light.

Newspaper in tree blood

The trees bleed in colours,

And the flowers bleed rainbows.

I, however, am black and white;

Plain as the newspaper at sight,

But follow a story when read.

I am made of the trees and flowers –

Those who bleed red, blue and green.

The words printed like a tattoo,

Just waiting for someone to read me;

Waiting for something new.

They learned to be alive without me

I ignored the summer sun,

The winter moon

And neglected the garden.

While I was pretending to be alone

I near expected the flowers to die.

When I felt like it I wandered out,

Only to find that they had lived.

They were alive and vibrant.

They had learned to live without me.

I could no longer tell which was which,

Or define their beauty,

Because they did not want to be known.

Not by I, the one who forgot them;

While I pretended to be alone.