Where Longing Begins its Seething

And he was too blinded by rage for seeming to be by her unloved to see that he was loved beyond measure.


when did you start painting wide eyes upon the moon
as if her light’s not bright enough for afternoon?;
“as if”, for she reveals the shadows cast in sight
while the sun seeks relief in her shards of twilight
longing to break away from a hot and beguiling day

as such she comes to you in a quiet and humming tune
gentle as heaven’s angel, warm as a maiden in June
but your eyes are too heavy with the density of gravity
for what the sun revealed to you just hours before
the black raven stole away into nevermore nevermore

so nighttime is where your anger begins its seething
for its eyes aren’t convinced by mind’s contrivings
to make moon your lover and still refuse to kiss her
a wrong never to see the light of the blessed days,
hidden in corners of sky, blocking your every way

“Beloved, beloved,” your cursed heart will call her
whether you goad your wild horses upon your path
or keep them contained in the prison of your wrath
imagination still stirs willful lies into lullabies
dreams feeding where your longing begins its seething

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