The Whole of The Moon

Not an original dream, or word computes this time.
Following the leader and daisy chains that litter a long way out.
Gunfire and bomb scares are louder now in flashes of time blink on and off.

House lights that communicate in waves.
Words fumble and flood from mouths that salivate for aesthetically pleasing scenery.
 Forever bleeding as jars overflow and litter the pathway home.
Colorless pictures of disorganized emotions processed in unique points.
Starry eyes buried under the veil of cobwebs that keep us tucked in real tight.
Dismal bricks of someday wisdom drag behind.

Our burial sites scattered among landscapes that you knew us in.
Roses for summer.
Pumpkins in fall
Winter poinsettias brighten up the grave mood.
Barricades that promote wellness in the bodies you knew us by lay solemnly still.
Among the grass, and snow dirty heads half spirited in the soil.
The calm as the literal hearts break in time, wilted flowers that dust reminds is still dust.

Folded notes in time gray to black
Emotional highs and lows wail on high against the current of dreamscapes
In waves the house lights die.
In waves the origins hush.
In waves the scene fades.
Over and out the prayers of what we can't let go drags the graves in chain gangs.
Marching with incentive.
Never to turn back time.

Fold the letter.
Forget my name.
You've buried me in pieces of mind in fall cemetery rain.
Hear the bells.
It's beyond the see, and saw the dream wake down on my knees.
Mercy me.
The soft kills me every time.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

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Smith  Avatar
September 17, 2026 at 7:05 PM
This is hauntingly beautiful free verse, built in powerful cinematic waves of memory, grief, and inevitability. The seasonal graveyard imagery gives the poem a ritual, elegiac movement, while the repeated “In waves” section creates a mesmerising undertow of loss. Its final lines feel especially raw and dreamlike—tenderness and devastation braided together in a distinctly gothic lament.
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