Lunar Chants

Glow a memory of the past,
And live by yourself at last,
Produce an abstract so vast,
A relic for your eyes to blast,
A symbolic eerie halo to cast
A spell leaving minds aghast,
To our lunar rituals of the past,
We look at your beauty at last,
Within your glory lives a vast
Energetic singularity to blast,
Forlorn shadows start to cast
Under your glow never aghast.

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The Magician’s Demise

The magician casted a spell on the
Beautiful Moon at the darkest hour
Of the longest night of this old year,
With his tall top hat and a ravenous
Empty smile he backed away casing
His crooked back by a violet cape,
As he jumped into the shadows of
Dodgy side alleys with his lengthy
Golden staff the Moon resisted,
Afraid that his identity might be
Revealed the magician tried to live
Under the shields of Earth’s crust,
But the buckets of love reversed
The spell by the Earth and poured
Hours of agony onto the magician,
Ever since that moment at the
Darkest hour of the longest night
Of this old year the Moon sang:
Je t’aime de tout mon coeur.

The Two Lads

The old lad and the not-so-old young lad
Started to walk together by the beach,
One had a stick and the other sunglasses,
The night swallowed the rays of lightness,
And crows would appear from the horizon –
Extremely distant that the two lads found
It excruciatingly painful to stare at, and so,
One of them sat on the snow-covered
Deserted unscathed wooden bench that
Was genetically engineered to survive
This apocalyptic world of many shadows,
The old lad went to his pockets and
Spread his palms out where seeds laid
There: warm, still, and totally silent,
The not-so-old young lad was extremely
Observant and stood firm in a great pause,
What he saw was something magical
Where extinct small birds and huge
Pelicans would soar high encircling
Those seeds, but the darkness changes
The beach and a whistling sound alarms
The two lads where they immediately
Walked along the coast in calmness,
One had a stick and the other sunglasses,
The old lad and the not-so-old young lad.

Read Between the Lines

A chronicler dwells in clear waters,
Just on the outskirts of a red post,
The prison, to which many others
Have escaped, is now left behind
To crumble before emerald trees,
Maps drawn to find this treasure,
But a compass might fail to work
Over here next to the nine paths,
The legend might just be a myth,
But to me, you only have to heed,
There is this man who disappeared
Behind the shadows of two sisters
That resided the crumbling prison,
So, avoid the chronicler that dwells
In clear waters for your own sake,
Find those who escaped and set
Them free from this awfully chaotic
World that is deemed to fall in the
Wrong hands like that of the sisters,
But love the rituals in the legend,
Sketched out of suns and moons,
Sending the star back to the post.

Calming the Soul

Calm down O lovely soul within my drumming heart,
Listen to the whispering rivers that flow in the veins,
Breathe in many joys and out the shadows of misery,
Contact the dusts of Earth that you always walked on,
Live in peaceful silence and utter nothing but peace,
Claim your previous self and sleep in great serenity,
Stay voiceless but move around this ancient world,
Ignore the background noises of the ignorant fools,
Now think about the true nature of peace and justice.