Fruit of the Moon

Brilliantly lit instruments dancing,
The light plays a soft tune,
Where lie the angry pumpkin faces,
Growing with the fruit of the moon.

Unlike the hues you’ve sought before,
Too different from all else,
Like twisting, turning forever roads,
One finds inside thy self.

On and on the journey did go,
Before all piercing eyes to see,
Minutes spilled into hidden hours,
That never ceased to be.

As you retreat deeper into yourself,
Unaware of the intricate patterns stitching the seams,
The stumbling forms that’s consistency never fails,
Attempting to take shape of your dreams.

Beautifully unaware of time’s fabric,
The sun and the stars become one,
Without meaning to you’ve lost your page,
Cast the spell that’s already begun.

I am skipping, running, jumping into the ocean,
Taking deep breaths of pulsing life,
The surface appears miles away now,
And the Reaper is lifting his laughing scythe.

Across a field of grinning thorns,
Reality has left you stripped naked and cold,
They never said you would wither so,
In the alluring stories you were told.

Shed at last those violet tears,
Curl yourself up into a ball,
Where no more sneering whispers hide,
Prepare yourself for the final fall.