Dark Muse
05-09-2014, 02:22 AM
Moon Boy
I still remember
when the boy fell from the moon
even while everyone else forgot
and the stars themselves close their eyes and wept
silent tears which strangely
burned away the rain for days.
He had a beautiful broken smile,
like the tortured soul
in the back corner of the coffee shop,
drinking espressos and smoking cigarettes
half-cast in shadow, illuminated by his own light,
a mad genius flickering just behind his eyes.
And his eyes had the haunted intensity
of the specter I visit within my dreams,
who waits in the forest mists, vacillating
between heartbreaking tenderness
and electrifying violence.
His voice was comparable to nothing
upon earth, its power derived from the sheer
inability to trigger any nostalgic feeling,
there where no memories, or heart breaks,
or miraculous moments of complete bliss
to be found within his voice.
What became of this boy
who fell from the moon upon a day
when the world was looking away,
with his tapered, delicate, self-assured fingers,
born for playing music
that he never played,
with his skin so white
it was translucent,
and the cosmos could be viewed
just beneath the surface
where has he gone?
He may have ventured too close to the water,
or stood outside too long in the rain,
like the jellyfish washed ashore disintegrates
before the very eye,
the treasure vanishes unseen
the very moment it arrived
scarcely detected.
I still remember
when the boy fell from the moon
even while everyone else forgot
and the stars themselves close their eyes and wept
silent tears which strangely
burned away the rain for days.
He had a beautiful broken smile,
like the tortured soul
in the back corner of the coffee shop,
drinking espressos and smoking cigarettes
half-cast in shadow, illuminated by his own light,
a mad genius flickering just behind his eyes.
And his eyes had the haunted intensity
of the specter I visit within my dreams,
who waits in the forest mists, vacillating
between heartbreaking tenderness
and electrifying violence.
His voice was comparable to nothing
upon earth, its power derived from the sheer
inability to trigger any nostalgic feeling,
there where no memories, or heart breaks,
or miraculous moments of complete bliss
to be found within his voice.
What became of this boy
who fell from the moon upon a day
when the world was looking away,
with his tapered, delicate, self-assured fingers,
born for playing music
that he never played,
with his skin so white
it was translucent,
and the cosmos could be viewed
just beneath the surface
where has he gone?
He may have ventured too close to the water,
or stood outside too long in the rain,
like the jellyfish washed ashore disintegrates
before the very eye,
the treasure vanishes unseen
the very moment it arrived
scarcely detected.