Michael Guerra Poet I do not know?

On a Mesa

On a mesa, not far from home, the moon shone on the grass like an emerald 
light, 
gleaming and bright. Silver and yellow roses touch the night sky, never seeming 
to 
end their course, beyond the stars. The wooden tiger played chess with the 
beaver 
and badger, always grinning after her victories. The beaver pestered the badger 
for 
not listening to his stories, which were so eloquently voiced out. A stick figure 
bleeding from the wrists cried out repeatedly,” for shame, for shame; my lover 
has 
fallen.” A lone wolf, howling mad, scowled at others, as they happily strolled by, 
saying, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.” The orange bunny stole eggs from 
mothering 
hens. Hopping in glee, she threw the eggs at all she passed. Gusts of wind 
swayed 
the grass and trees back and forth, sometimes lifting weeping willows from their 
stagnant sobs. Merry ghosts of every color lit up as they reminisced and laughed 
of 
the days past. As I walked towards flirting fairies, vampires waved with jovial 
smirks, never saying a word, but always smiling. A soothing mist took hold and I 
said, “The pain, the friendship, the love, the tragedy, its all so beautiful,” and 
that night I knew I was truly alive.

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