Singing Moon

At night when light is fast asleep
the moon will weep.
Its friend, the sun,
just steals the fun.

Don't cry dear moon, all will be fine -
no need to pine,
you'll feel the kiss
of song and bliss.

The sun will rise with tired eyes,
to it's surprise 
the nights cold stings
but moon now sings.

Floating Until Left

Plenty of fish in the sea
Plenty of dead ones floating
Floating lifelessly
Floating endlessly
Endlessly stuck in a cycle
Endlessly bobbing along
Along the cold surface
Along the same lines
Lines of the horizon
Lines of a tourist's sight
Sight for the sorest eyes
Sight that fades away
Away from memories
Away from the aged
Aged like rotting milk or
Aged like wine
Wine sat in a cellar
Wine that's finely labelled
Labelled as refined
Labelled to raise the price
Price too high to pay
Price holds us back
Back from all our dreams
Back to the start
Start to feel bitter
Start to feel angry
Angry at the system
Angry at the man
Man united in struggle
Man up for the fight
Fight for what you want
Fight for that love
Love of another
Love of a connection
Connection to their heart
Connection severed so fast
Fast to move out
Fast to sell up
Up the ante
Up the stakes
Stakes in the dating pool
Stakes in the game
Game of dating
Game of swiping right
Right to get a winner
Right right left
Left with the dead
Left without anymore fish

Do not think after midnight

I gave the voices your tongue to hear their words in the voice of another. How differently I hate myself when the recital of criticism takes on a separate tone. The ex-plosives are missed as your snipes detonate in an uglier timbre. The richness of that trill is taken as an ever renewing esteem tithe, gradually depreciating my self-belief’s valuations so the bare bones can be given back to the earth cost free. Would the words you made me delete have made any difference? They’ll greet me when I finally give into the bitterness and momentarily regret all I hadn’t the chance to regret before.

Evening Oil Smudge

Drops of boiled beeswax
poured into the lap of eventide
fixed up the familiar face

Soul syphoned as tax
with lips forever widely untied
yet draped in smatters of lace

Bright acrylic lacs
whispering old words that formed and dyed
a novel paint palate case

Dry anticlimax
from feeble watercolor tears cried
at night end's bitter disgrace

Broken into scraps
less than what it could and would provide
more than all it could erase

Better Free

Locked behind bones wrapped in brocade
an indelicate escape plea
screaming inward for a reply.
This bustle will surely outgrow
the short lived modesty debut.

One could claim you're on a crusade
offending nobles in a spree
until it's protests can outcry,
overpower, your own deep woe -
setting you down, trapping anew.

Perhaps you'll set to work, or trade
Or marry yourself a marquis.
Resolve your fate with one more lie:
he undressed you patiently slow
then treats you as more than a screw

In Old Age

Porcelain filled with lavender tea
sits delicately on the table.
The old doily cloth matches your dress,
were both inherited from mother?
Remember how she would laugh so loud?

Flower teased by a small bumble bee,
please ignore it if you are able
it will only sting if under stress.
Remember that advice from brother?
Bees have the temper of a storm cloud.

"I'm glad that we still have each other"
Oh how I wish you'd say this aloud