The moon sheds light,
like a veil of
tears
Over sparkled heads.
Into our own tears,
Her blooms fall.
Until dripping
fills
the well of feeling.
The echoing glass,
of her voice, Breaks,
with tragedy,
when each of us dies…
She witnesses the grace,
As souls depart.
Oh silent stream!
Still waters,
Silent tears.
Her voice.
It moves ethereally…
Her voice, it moves free.
Quiet,
Still,
She stuns up in the sky.
Facing flower-star;
Geometric lights!
Alone,
They strange spin.
White ghost,
Still life,
Enchants everything.
We are but pale poets…
who walk below
Her realm