By The Wake Of The Moon Poem by Phillip Knight

No more acceptance,
Desire the high life.
For too long settled,
No longer serving a purpose.
....
Moon looms,
In concentric circles it fuels the beast inside,
Boiling your blood from within my veins,
Ramshackled and removed from taste,
I care only for crimson,
Injecting your life inside of myself,
Wearing your skin,
Going by your name.

By day different,
Friendly face worn without confidence,
How subtle subject changes,
Deliberately enter me into a plea,
Bargaining power all but deliberately swiped.
How I now sleep alone.

Through gritted teeth and concealed spike,
Lavish ceremonies I use to break,
Spilling the contents of the subject through romantic quips,
Encased by glacier counterparts,
The cold knows me only as father.
For there it is that I rest,
Shadow and spectator,
Though what is there to watch at the end of the game?

Clouds as wool capsize upon my eyes,
Take me as colonies within your body,
Drafting sweetest breath across mapped points,
Delicate places in which you position me,
And even within the haze it is here that I witness you at your most translucent.

Life has thus far been a constant comparison,
Considering how I differ from the awake,
Those who live by day,
And desist by night.
Allowing freedom of dream,
Desire without boundaries,
Nor stark reality and self sacrifice.

Here I am,
Chained to my own ego,
In time I shall fall silent,
Once everyone has learned to hate me.
I poison myself with the belief that I can get away with it.
Perhaps I should no longer talk,
Just think,
Try not to destroy lives with understanding that only I understand,
Be still in the night,
By the wake of the moon,
Staid by the sun,
Alone.