poem29 Dec 2008 06:48 am

Walk east of the sun, and west of the moon,
they said, as if I cared for directions,
or anything else. I walked pathways strewn

with broken starlight, on rose tipped oceans,
watched crimson winged doves sip rage.  “Follow me,”
they said, as if I cared for directions

when my heart bled stones. An old willow tree
cradled me; I wept my dark distress,
watched crimson winged doves sip rage. “Follow me,”

whispered the moon, handing me a soft dress
bound in a nut.  The moon’s tender shadows
cradled me. I wept my dark distress.

begged the sun for news. He draped my sorrows
with forgotten dreams. Following commands,
bound in a nut, the moon’s tender shadows

seized me, until I did not know my hands
or anything else. I walked pathways strewn
with forgotten dreams, following commands:
walk east of the sun, and west of the moon.

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