Goddess Love

Diana you are
Beauty goddess of night
Pale flawless skin
Bathed by silver light

Huntress and vixen
Virtue still pure
Tamer by madness
To which all men do abhor

Yet you can be gentle
Soft in your might
Take pity on me dear goddess
For I am lost in your flawless might

Zodiac Hearts

The stars are aligned for us

The readings on the charts all say one thing
And love it is that I hold for you my dearest of friends

The moon smiles down on us

When I gaze out into her twinkling cloaks dark expanse I am stricken with the longing that has caught greater a person than me
That you allow me by your side is blessing enough
That I could enjoy longer time in the future
A selfish wish
The moon hears my whispered oaths, oaths I know aren’t my right to have

The sun exposes us

It’s warmth comparable to your smile
So bright and full of familiar cheer
Oaths made at night burn away in the light of the day star and to see your face, I know in this it is no different
You burn me with your happy gaze and pleasantries
The full brunt of your beauty and admirable charm
Your presence
Your grace
The light that shines through your eyes and brings a glow to your skin
I burn to face you, my shame exposed, my heart beating bare

In Death

Another long one:

I imagine death to be the culmination of your years best events all swirling in a muddled mesh of blinding white and hitting you like a brick

Somehow it makes sense in your head

In your final moments, bleeding out gasping, dreaming peaceful, mouth open in silent cries of pain, eyes closing reaching peace, in your final moments it all makes sense

I imagine death to hold the answers your forgot on your fourth grade history test. Which state was the fifth to join the Union? Which state was the fifth to join the union? Ah Connecticut. All the yesses and nos and truths and falses suddenly seem to make sense.

In retrospect it always seems to make death.

I imagine death to be warm. The body always feels cold,but the soul, the soul burns bright and not. Death is warmth, scorching or homely, it’s warmth. It’s your last farewells and the feeling of years of needed relief dropping off your shoulders in a euphoric rush of pleasure.

In the absence of fear, pain, and disappointment there can only be the pleasure of, “It’s over. Just rest. It’s over.”

I imagine death to be a secret. Something man can always claim at any time, be swept in the tide of at a moments notice, and yet so little is known. The death of a body but the life of a soul? No. The death of a soul and the death of a body? No. The failure of the flesh and the failure of the spirit? No. Wrong? No? Unknown. Who knows?

I imagine all I can. The final story we can write, the end to our adventure. Out there somewhere. Waiting in the wings.