Magic.

May 6, 2012 § 17 Comments

The moon is not yet a cellblock
or somewhere to fly to.
On a good night it appears
to be embellished in the clouds like a huge diamond.
On a good night it flings its silver
onto the flung out torn out clothes of darkness.
On a good night it isn’t yellow,
its bright light surviving through the tree leaves that havent been burnt yet.
On a good night it isn’t a spot in the distant sky,
it is hope and love for lovers in some corner of the world.

Just as if nothing is wrong with
the world,
that cannot be mended by love.
Or magic.

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§ 17 Responses to Magic.

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