Death on lunar wings

Weak, the weary watches on.
Another time, another song.
That plays like gold inside their hearts.
And burgeons tears to fall like stars.
But when the music finally dies.
There’ll be but darkness in those eyes.
For when the weary finally sleep.
It’s in plastic coffins, for space to keep.

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “Death on lunar wings

  1. like sailing haunted ships across a velvet sky, tearing the fabric that suspends time, your words inspire me to float and reach deeper and write about a magic that never sleeps.

    Like

Two cents?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s