In that moment,
descending into a drunken mess,
he tried to grasp at the moon but stumbled over his own soul,
what might have become or may have been,
ours is not to tell,
nor is there rhyme or reason,
for betwixt the threshold of darkness and a flickering candle,
the beacon to the lost is sometimes found,
inwardly looking at the reflection within,
not with standing the image without,
all is but a dream.

Standing still
Crushed rampaged
  metals collide the face
  splashed with guts of the
      masses Massacras being
            routines in all routes the
                   scenes are blinding
                        as light flashes
                     before the eyes
                  like angry skies
                in  darker nights

           The day is reborn
      the face wiped with
  cloths of sorrow black
bags already gone but
  not forgotten, pardoned
     only when the bones have
           cracked and the body
           can no longer stand the
             pain, with holes deep
             enough to be filled
                    by the rain.

you asked her to stay
but in return you heard a howl
you looked up and there she was
eternally fleeting
perpetually out of grasp
for you were an anchor and she was a kite
she wouldnt stay but she always came back
for she is the wind
and you the earth.