Monday, February 6, 2012

You Don't Say...

When did the spirit die?
When did she let the tepid and virulent evil
 overcome the steadfast appreciation for all that could be?
Tides continuously change yet
she has not learned to anticipate the cycle.
The moon offers her no light upon which to cast her shadows.

Mystery is the bane from which she longs to remember more.
To explore, to renounce,
to cast a half-moon from which others may gain their full.
To crash upon that bluff with a force that turns glass soft.