Fantasy26 August 2020
When the quarter moon sets,
Something is perhaps known, or even
a line descends
revealed in the moonlight,
between him and him, them and them, her and her
yet, and yet
it breaks, in some shape and form, it is lost a little
just a little in each other
not realising, just disappearing in each other, even when it breaks
even time loses itself when this moment begins;
and yet, only yesterday
the sun hid itself behind the smog
clever to conceal itself, receding all light to a small shimmer
that visage, concealment, that regretful weight
Once the sound breaks, there is difficulty in mere breath.
becomes a paradox each view is warped, elated.
All those old feelings like a slow walk in the night
phases of memory, halted.
Those who count the lies
forget the meaning behind them.
Lost nights, tired arguments, dried tears, a final kiss
they disappear and then leave their mark.
Sometimes it is best not to talk. Each feeling is different
than the rest,
yet many are silent.
I wouldn’t have told you this before, mistakes are
too easy when I speak
But easy to keep when no one speaks.