Friday, February 25, 2011

The Son of the Moon

My mother
sits in the garden
by green growing things
she has planted me
deep in the earth
entangled me
with roots
watered me
with tears of indifference
What am I
the son of the moon
amongst all these sprouts
come harvest
I’ll be cut down
ground fine
offered up
glad to be swallowed
into silent oblivion
my mother
sits in the garden
surrounded by stars
while I rise in the east
and she basks
in the light
of my sorrow
the moon doesn’t frown
the sun never smiles
my hearts never broken
and words never lie
we all die
long before
we’re ever born
the ceaseless round of tomorrows
are all yesterdays
and I am the child
of unquenchable desire