"Eclipse" from "As White Snow Turns Red: Winter Poems"

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December 21, 2010
(The First Day of Winter and the Winter Solstice)
“Lunar Eclipse”
Last night the moon turned red
The shortest day and longest night,
An eclipse that transformed the sky,
And looked so beautiful reflected in our eyes
The moon last night blushed,
As the sun whispered a quiet hush,
And kept it warm all through the night,
Kisses that made phoenixes take flight,
And fly around the sun,
Like in an orbital pattern,
Basking in the love
This love so passionate and warm,
Burned
The phoenixes, and then they were reborn
A thousand resurrections,
On this night, the winter solstice
The sun is farthest from the equator
The equator our love, our hope,
Our dreams, our souls,
Wishes and fearful sealed kisses,
Embraces and entwined faces,
All left in the dark and cold
The sun’s too far away
On this day
But do not worry, she’s coming near again
This orbit will bring around summer,
A warmth and brightness rekindling old lovers,
Regrowing leaves and flowers,
Happy-tear showers
That water our tomorrow and let them grow
Into something more valuable than gold
All of this beauty in response and praise
Of these summer days,
When the sun has drawn close again
And we will draw this water out of streams
That were chiseled out by dreams,
And it will quench our thrist and give moisture to hopes
And allow them to grow
Into something more valuable than gold
And we will draw ourselves like we are
When the moon’s reflected light shines upon us,
When we become as bright as stars,
We will paint ourselves in constellations
We will be sights to behold,
Filled with stories untold
We will draw the sweet nectar out of these flowers,
And with resurrected truths we will shower
Them so they may be drenched in this beautiful truth,
Sweet smelling sentences breathed in and out of lungs,
Dissolving on sun-sparked tongues
And the sun
Will give us her love,
Rays of light more valuable than gold

We’ve got butterfly wings,
All those songs the birds sing,
And some dreams,
Along with bedside and birthday wishes,
And a thousand good-night kisses,
Fallen feathers and forcasts of the weather
To make beauty and keys
To unlock new realities

Where dead men with noosed necks
Grasp the fingers of the trees
That they hanged on,
In the winter’s breeze,
When they burned as bright as the sun,
As bright as all those leaves
Fallen from the trees,
When the sun and leaves
Were no longer able to be seen,
They burned wit a brightness
That was deadly

Stars
Never seemd so far
Away

Where they injected stories into their veins,
Storys fallen from the sky,
So they could be
Like the trees
And their leaves
They overstuffed themselves with Today,
In hopes that they would throw up Tomorrow
They tried to get closer to each other,
But they failed to realize that they need to get closer to themselves first

I feel trapped,
But my cage door has been left wide open
Do I not wish to leave?
Or is it that my wings
Have forgotten how to fly,
And that my feet
Have grown accustomed to this bar?
I doubt it
Perhaps I am afraid of being free,
Just to be
Trapped again
But I thought that birds,
Like wind,
Where unable to be caged for long
You have done too good of a job
Of proloning
My suffering,
Of keeping me grounded

Sometimes I just feel so helpless. Like everything I do is just another way to pass the day, and to keep me from revealing what hides underneath. Like my personality, facial expressions, actions, reactions, everything I do, is just an act. Sometimes I just feel trapped. And it seems my best friends are a piece of paper and the sound of a pencil. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I ever did. New Year’s is coming around, and maybe my resolution should be to discover me. Uncover me. Bury me. But people have a way of putting things off. What do I know how to do, when I don’t even know what to do with myself? What do I know when I don’t even know who I am? Yes, I have a name, but that doesn’t make a person. It’s their personality.

These ribs feel like a prison,
Keeping my heart
Behing bars

These ribs feel like a cage,
Trapping my soul
Like a bird

My parents want me to be one thing, but I want to be something else. I try to live up to what perhaps I, or everyone else, thinks I should be, thinks I should do. But at the end of the day, it’s my choice. And I stand at these cross sections, having trouble making my selection. I feel like I’m a little kid still, like I need someone to hold, or more likely, someone to hold me. Like I need someone to kiss me good night, and rap me up in the sheets, someone to read me bedtime stories of the sun and the moon and the planets and the stars and the black night sky, like I need a hand to hold when I walk in case I fall, like a need someone to lead me around, like I need someone to keep me warm and insure that I will be safe, as long as they are their by my side, and that I don’t need to fear the night. I feel like I am seven years younger than I actually am sometimes. It’s funny, people say that I act older than I actually am, that I am more mature than most people my age and older than me, that I am sophisticated. I must be doing a good job of fooling everybody. But I cannot fool myself.

I long to have the love
that the moon and the sun
have.
To have love,
like light,
be shot through weigtless black space,
be absorbed and reflected
forever.

I long to be your moon.





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