> Poems for Luna
>  by alafoel
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Poem for Luna
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

you told me
to give you space
so I gave you all of it.
> Poem for Luna
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I lay,
scrunched in our palace,
tears running down
not in
overwhelm
but absence.

Of the perfect words
flowing from taut maw,
of singing lullaby 
to sleep.

I was there once,
when it was simple.
The string hum
harp of tongue
and teeth
of whispers in twitchy ear
to console.

There are many twitchy ears

to console. 


Absence makes the
Oh!
Oh, but dash it!
Screw it!
Smash it against the wall!
and in our palace,
in the absence of dream,
in the overwhelm of
Salt and Fear
of twitching hoof
and twitchy ear…

There are no whispers.

And I have
to go back on.
> Poem for Luna
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

and present form to shed at once in crystalline waltz d’eau sucrée, and to lose one thousand years of own, to drink back in one thousand more alone and then with All - All, really, All - to stare at shattered form of reminisce hung of glass, Stained with memory fear, the tiny foal that sits beneath, eyes rended up at beastly facsimile of something inside her, the foal, a body and barrel more set than any mare she knows but one:

the two that had been, before they hadn’t, had then been again, stride aside, towering the tower, buttresses of hoof one end and body t’other, these impossible sides of one bit, to look in eyes and spoke no bad words alowd through those bloodless coughs of cotton, taut from tongue and pressed empty, yes, of the blood that had lined: that had lined:

halls and halls of empty excess set to rot and billow, stone cracked tween hoof of sun and moon and beyond, then, the striking hammer of time and weather, this placid bound for eternal strife brought in through cyclical motions begging only to itself again, spirit not Thing nor Beast but spirit of nothing stood for in crystalline sapling’s hope of World and Righteousness, rotten Lacking to take and grab and hold - distended will pulled through glass mirror, rusted and feint of dirt smudges drawn round of only simple frowns that too had once consumed:

her, the filly, soul inside - victim of yet to come - who had learned, just once, of Emotion and Power, that two are Same, that she is but Slave to Herself, who rose but Taller, pricked of rose in mouth and ear - filled, the same, with cotton - to beg only to be Seen, and seen she would be, seen inside her:

prison of rock globbed in pitch ocean, laying between valley of Light and Dark, laying between Home and Away, between strops of land/ocean cohabited and tides of stars/stars/stars, Forever, but strung not herself through any Love, but Cold and Bitter - darkness more bred, of set in now Holes Between Stars to drink in the brain or soul that once gave in to itself, viewed afar from all below seeing but Stone and Soulless ‘til millennium took stand:

released into the fear welled inside the heart, ‘fraid only but of Nothing - same that stood drank back in her - power delt from swift Hoof to dispense more, more Nothing, and six that watched and ambulated, born too of The Stuff (here, not rot, but what is left behind) and face the form of Fear and take Crystalline Soul and together weld and wield but the Period, to let Night and:
> Poem for Luna
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

it's been
some time
since i saw your smile
wrapped in front of my own.

shine in your eyes
and wetness too
all have come to subside
yet
hang in place
internal fiction
hovering through minds of my own

the stars,
maybe
were never real
but still i can
conjure them

conjure at will
hanging there and
grinning
slices of 
bitter
sweet
past gone by

should i cry of
hoof no longer slung
and thumped with kind on back?
or plug up proud
that it ever once slung, in the first place
that it
could have been

curse the past with
the curses i used
and shone so bright on yr.
leaving washed reflections
hiding but all beneath
sun in sky and beaming pride
that i could be filled with hate

hope no longer
is all i can wish
but hope no longer
that spites the ones i miss.
> sorry to everyone i hurt (Poem for Luna)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night crawls on through,
moon in its wake
stars lining up behind
all present
something so
beautiful.

A gift of nature
once forgotten
and lost many a time,
years stared and
forgotten thank-yous
left in empty bowls.

Apologies ripped
and shredded,
torn apart
hoped and wished to be
but never came
all try to fire up
and haunt my dreams.

You wouldn't let them.

What have I done to deserve you?
That you can still
bear to look at my face.

What have I done to deserve you?
I won't complain, of course.
I love you.
> Poem for Luna (empty bottles filled with love/empty wax suffers the same anhedonic fire it feeds)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

avarice daints,
formed from
glow of moon
lunar.

waking nightmare.

pricks point and
bleeds,
lets flow
through the
open cavity. 

river
of blood. 

river of blood
and the hooves that stand inside it.

mane drenched and cold
chest wide
open and
hoping, begs
has someone got to-
but empty
little whispers
of nothing words
make pal and
saunter inside.

four chambers all
now with whispered nothings.
wings that
stretch and hurt.
some day soon will
too be gone.

it's funny:
they can all
see the hate and
fear
harrow
that they conjure
spit from spiked maw and mixed with blood
but they can't tell
the truth:

it's empty.
there's nothing left inside.
> Poem for Luna
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let this moment stretch eternal,
as eternity is granted back to you:
As the drop of water in the ocean gives way
to an impossible number of oceans more
never sailed,
yet to sail.
Here with wings once more fluffed,
horn tangled again in warmth,
with a past two steps behind you.
Carved into stone.

How could it be?
How could it be you?
Wrangled maw
of promise untrue:
of Scream and Shout
and fearful foals,
little eyes yet wider open
begging to meet with yours
and tell you
you're the same.

Are you made of stone, I ask?
The statue that stands behind you
no longer moves it's legs
just lets them hang in place
and soak
in rainwater
stained.

Rainwater too
stains your own,
but now
your legs can move.

The only thing left to do
is

live.
> Poem for Luna (or Prelude)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I couldn’t believe
that You were right there,
right in front of Me.
Legs scattered,
sibilance protracted between
hooves and shined floor.

Staring now,
in flesh,
not my puppeteered strings
nor my foreign rocks,
staring, quivering mass,
set there in moonlight like it
belonged to you:
beautiful and silken,
soft with tears,
impossibly kempt,
audibly distressed
living here as this
gum of past and future,
robbed wholly of Your present:
You in front of Me.

but through it all
You had the
the gall
to look up to Me

and apologise.

Or maybe You just never had the choice.
> Poem for Luna
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

what’s left to say?
except I’m So Sorry
and I Missed You So Much.