I watch the moon, in all its terror and resonance; sadness bathes in blue.
A skeleton that sits across from it all, waiting for death to bloom.
I am the garden who governs the gardener;
I've lost all sense of matter, indulging
in the fall into selfish vanity,
finding no flowers at all.


Twin cabins swing along—ignorance is bliss.
Youth plays a fool's game, while Truth's eyes walk; keep past moving along.
Time has stayed still in the pit of the pitiful;
I search for that childlike flare that has since
ruptured my lungs.


The tunnel to my mind wonders: are life and I singing the same song?
Different pages flip; did our perspective shift, or did the presentation change?
I can't become a butterfly; I have myself to blame.


Staring at the Moon with anticipation, hoping the shallow reality was what was worth to consume,
The wish came to pass, eventually losing the eyes to that of the Truth.
Materialistic things materialized the fountain of youth,
In the end, worthless things are worth it all.


© starrose