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    dots Submission Name: Under my door dots

    Author: ira
    ASL Info:    21.f.ca
    Elite Ratio:    3.22 - 238/273/176
    Words: 715
    Class/Type: Poetry/Death
    Total Views: 883
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 3844


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    dotsUnder my door dots

    The moon speaks at night of you,
    her words bitter and cold, but true.
    The moon speaks at night of you,
    keeping me awake in fear Iíll miss a chance of you,
    the moon cuts at night so true,
    her knife leaving bleeding sores of you,
    the moon tortures sweet of you,
    the blindness I desire never given of you.
    The moon sings at night of you.
    Sings her cold true songs describing the death of you;
    the cold mornings I awake, desperate,
    seeking, her fingers,
    Black Waters I canít see!
    The desperation takes the lungs
    stones are left to dry.
    The tide is out,
    the moon is laughing, sheís laughing and singing, she speaks.
    She speaks at night of only you,
    Her waxing wane of truth be soothed,
    every night of only you,
    even as the sun rises, with the morning dew,
    she continues to whisper, singing only of you.
    Mimicking my mocking grin,
    the toothless, starlit night,
    ready to begin.
    The moon, she speaks at night of you,
    her truth and cull, Black Waters knew.
    The moon she sleeps at night with me,
    Her voice the melody of your once black sea.
    The moon speaks of you at night;
    her song a blanket wrapping me tight
    torturing my tearless nights,
    sleep she says, so soft and dull
    the lull like flowers wilting so cold.
    The moon speaks in soothing songs at night,
    they ripple the tides and chock me tight,
    the moon she slips beneath my door, cracks the window begging mourn.
    She closes eyes and whispers dream,
    not understanding a word I speak.
    The moon she sings, always of you, she rises and falls,
    so beautiful, so true.
    She comes to me, as woman, as night,
    she comes to me when she has risen to full height.
    She speaks of you, holding me tight, cutting new sores,
    bleeding just right.
    The moon she speaks of you at night.
    Wounding softly, as she sings of your black waters.
    Her hands so cold, her eyes so warm, her speech-her song keeps me waiting for more.
    Her melody so taunting so clean, the tainted verses she sings so new and bitter sweet,
    the moon, she sings, she visits, and freeze, she comes and she goes, waxing-waning mementos,
    of a life, of a death, of a sea painted black;
    the moon sings, the moon mocks, the moon, she is torturing my loss.

    The moon speaks of you at night,
    keeping my head buried under pillows,
    keeping my wounds open and bleeding,
    keeping the fear of dreaming fresh and new.
    The moon speaks of you at night,
    and I am left to nothing,
    She, she is now my black water, she is now coloring my sands, she is now the holder of the paint brush,
    because you let go of my hand.
    The moon, the moon speaks of you at night,
    as I hold myself so tight,
    as the moon chokes me with my tears,
    the moon helped find you here.

    Black waters once my home, you painted my sands from white to gold, Black waters you washed my sins away.

    But now my love, itís the moon who stays.

    The moon speaks of you at night,
    Her words cold, but true,

    My love the moon, she speaks, sings, lives for you at night.

    Submitted on 2008-12-07 23:11:59     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Okay I'm a tad blown away here. Though a very long write, I stayed in motion with it, which is hard to do with a lengthy piece. At first I thought it was going to be too repetitious, but for some reason, it just needed to be that way. My heart actually feels your joyous pain. Thank you for posting this piece.
    | Posted on 2008-12-09 00:00:00 | by Jessa | [ Reply to This ]

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