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trav/is

made of moonlight

Month

April 2017

Persona

Born into contrast,
I learned to separate as days passed;
felt it out and created a mask,
now it’s this persona in which I bask.

I see too that you’ve found yours,
made as it were behind closed doors.

Too exist those forged in fire,
those are the ones I most admire;
constantly in peril but ne’er do they tire,
undoubtedly worthy of singing choir.

One might say we’re not as great,
slow as we are to rise against fate,
but I’m afraid I would disagree,
because I can’t find another you or me.

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Fingertips

Underneath these fingertips
is the tale of a century;
an unwritten love song
capable of reaching a million hearts;
a poem profound enough
to not wither through the ages;
the power to create a blueprint
for a weapon so devastating
it would destroy the world;
the dexterity to repair
the failing organs of a human being;
a physical strike that might
end the strongest relationship;
a caress so gentle it would
melt away all of life’s problems,
and the ability to wipe away
the tears of their remnants;
a tribute to a lost loved one
that is boundless in its nobility;
a single touch for another
that would prove to be unforgettable;
an unshakeable grip on
who I am as a human being.

Struggle

Once upon a wavering dream,
monsters called out in the limelight,
gamblers keeping secret their bets
as vacant stare was pitted against unholy beckoning;

sealed wounds worn on my sleeve,
I resisted in a state of revulsion,
a stubborn fortitude that proved immovable
even while the will to live was weakening;

slowly a shy flame was forged in the tension,
feeding on a persisting frustration–
the efforts to grow were not in vain,
I dared not let the flame be extinguished;

now I burn in the heart of this fire,
prone to bouts of determined effort,
in truth the end result eludes me
but ever forward I continue to march;

a sinister cloud of doubt looms
darkly above my reluctant acceptance,
denying access to the holy mountain,
so I sit at the bottom as the rain falls;

the struggle with darkness appears eternal,
a chain that is forged to remain unbroken
and shackled forcefully to this dying machine,
daily I must strike at it to no visible effect;

but madly I strike nonetheless,
futility serving only to madden me further,
until defiance consumes my entire being
and a brief glimpse of the inferno is caught;

a great raging strength boiling fiercely
deep beneath the tranquil surface,
in time it may bring the deliverance
I’ve long sought in the inspiring moonlight;

in another life the harbinger of my undoing,
many times I’ve seen emotion turn ominous,
instability pushing the unsuspecting over the edge,
often teetering in a most dangerous dance;

peering now found a surrounding sadness,
knowing grief to be only one facet of life
among the inexplicable innumerable many,
scarcely touched by ephemeral comfort;

without fail the exhaustion finds me,
caring naught for any distance traveled,
eyelids eager to shield weary eyes,
my head rests in a cradle of arms.

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