by Chris Kenyon
Another quick poem... it's about hoping to recapture some feelings of childhood.
|The Boy Who Poked Holes in the Sky
I used to be the boy who poked holes in the sky,
Who wondered why the moon chose him
Followed closely during car rides home.
I was the boy who wished the waning moon health
Who cited nightlight-light pollution for softening my Sistine ceiling -
Two arms full of glow in the dark stars shining unevenly across the fan galaxy
Wonder wasn't a feeling; it was a fulltime job
As I grew, my phases fell from marraige with the moon,
I watched as my beliefs burned like plunging asteroids
And left me with the cold craters of reality
Told that stars didn't have points
I am no longer the boy who pokes holes in the sky,
Yet I wait for the day my arms forget the risk of reaching
For one last dance with the moon.