Zenith of the Moon,
whose silken tress falls down to the groom.
Man and Moon, how real the pair;
if only thought would come to pass
our mind would be the air,
free with glee, as no other could be.
We would ride the stars,
mount the winds,
walk the milky way,
but we have fallen astray,
the morals of reality stuck fast as tar.
Lose the flock,
denounce the ewe,
your free to forge your own destiny.
Your only to grasp the hammer,
swing with mind,
and reap whats called temptations incline.
Once unleashed we could spread like fire,
roaming the ways and roads faster than tires,
faster than light,
were are the intellectual plight!
You could be me, and I you.
But then who would be who?
You and me of course, mingled and free
taller than alone, we could reach into the unknown,
and bring forth to bear
the sly of the fox, and the wisdom of the tree.
Sweeter than perished lock and key,
the unwrapping of chains,
we could once again have brains!
Shun the norm,
gather your fury like a storm,
its our turn now.
Halcyon be,
Higher than Zenith of Moon,
Admonished but still alive,
so says the croon, the one who contrives.
If only, if only, there was no box to be outside of,
no spoon to bend,
no reality.
We'd have smarts to lend,
enough to power the earth,
spinning and spinning,
till' its all spinned out.
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Submission Name: Zenith of the Moon
