The blanket

A man's son awakes, 
His dreams have captured his mind,
For his throat shakes.
He asks with kind
Eyes "may I keep this?"
So I handed it off with a kiss.

Warm and red
With little sorrow,
Lays in bed 
Until tomorrow.
The boy loves it as if it was his own
But only to imagine his father home.

You, the imagery man,
Sleep without disturbance.
While the boy you left behind
Waits for your return.

The Moon

“Without any light of it’s own, the moon shines nightly; slightly but brightly. And what a sight. The morning almost comes too soon – you have more power than the moon.”

The moon fails to show how marvelous it truly is. It is not only the indication of the night, but an innocuous sight. To sincerely appreciate the existence of such a wonder – and I mean to the fullest – you, yourself have to be content. The moment you sit outside on your porch on that chilly night and gaze upon this gift. That is the moment. The moment of pure recognition.

The moon has always been there. Not too long after the Earth itself – in theory. It follows the car with the child who watches and slowly drifts asleep; the parents who forgot the curiosity it once brought them. Although the day will come and night will leave, the moon has always returned to relight the fire of creativity. Of those who still watch of course.

The moon changes. It’s the phases that make is so perfect. One night it turns red just to make itself noticed again. Another night it keeps the world safe under it’s full blanket.The moon is a friend that inspires many through it’s phases. And though change may be unpredictable, it is still the moon.

It will always be the moon.

To me, you are the moon.

You are my moon.