Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Shooting The Moon

He saw the full moon in its eternal and ethereal loneliness where it hung unveiled in the sky a mute witness to the comings and goings of the strange lives on the the planet so far below. What slow banks of clouds had now rolled off and disappeared into some other form in the thin fabric of the quiet night air. It was bright and immense over all creation, that which slept and that which lied awake. In the distance thin pillars of night birds left their nests and climbed heavenward towards its deep yellow electric grow and He felt in him that same force that pulls the tide in with it in an ageless bond that nothing could break and that moves the hearts of wolves to aching with their necks arched and their eyes closed and their sorrowful howl tearing a void in any beating heart and that stitches it up one and the same and that speaks solely to those kindred ears that have the will to hear it.

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