Red Moon
Faintly shimmers the moon against the red sky.
Red like fire, or blood.
And read like a book.
It sprawls out like the text of some demented God.
Painting with words and elucidating with language
the troubles of war, and the anguish of poverty.
But purest beauty is found beneath it
Gods surest gift, and angels secret.
She is encased in life and flesh
by sorrows woes and a blue dress.
But shows not the fear she holds.
She broke my heart, time and time again.
Never by trespasses, but only by beauty.
She is Beauty.
And no beauty is found to shine brighter.
Not even ancient queens of old
or heavens divine.
And she is mine.
Not by any great feat of charm have I snared such a love,
only by her grace, and blind affection.
If not for this, I would be shunned based on my being lesser.
And even tho she chooses me,
It is still a crime of love.
For beauty such as her belongs to kings, and angels.
I digress,
I shall flee from this red moon.
Flee from the tormentor that is life.
And hold my sweetheart while she still beats at the heart.
While her breast rises and falls
and during her existence I shall have bliss.
Bliss that no drug or drink could induce.
Thus I will leave you.
Leave you to your wars and poverty.
Your death and deaths angels shall prey upon mankind,
but let me be tonight,
that I might run my fingers through her hair.
No glory shall be found in thee,
Oh, bloody moon.
Red sky,
I bid you goodnight.
And farewell for a days time.
We shall meet again soon.
I am sure of it.