Lunar Eclipse Poem by Leah Ayliffe

The blood of the moon, shadowed by the sun. A shadow that once ran away from the boy who never grew up, to the land in the stars.
Luna, is one way, the ecplise at night far from who we know as who we are. Senselessly pounding and pulling the inner tides of the soul. Devouring the flesh of the heart in confusion and liberation to seek what is supposed to transform illusion into something real.
I couldn't know yesterday. I could barely remember how to breathe in this society of depression and anxiety, a state which has become a cliche to the experience of human beings.
Yesterday, the demands of unwanted secrets from the graveyward to be unearthed, found its slave.
The day masked the night with a lullaby, singing how it is too hard to think about thinking about anything worth thinking about. Cloudy wisdom creeping in. A cosmic spell behind tortured skulls, or what lies inside them. Vines of flowers surely dying. That which has taken place before, and the daunting lure in what's to come.
It's too hard. Quiet. Be unsettled for the hour and fall into the arms of wavering lies, crumbling into the magnificent truth.
It doesn't matter if it was a rose garden or a grand yard of weeds disguised as heavens path. The door, the gate, meant to be locked from our unworthy naive hands.
The skin, the muscles, the dreamy haze of futures past.
The aches, the rotting minds, the pulse moving inside the bones.
Nothing is poetic anymore. It's everything, our theatre, our show.
Dark navy blue sky, an ocean for the ship of stars.  A lonely song for everyone. Are we together or alone?
Their light is not artificial like the neon colours and shiny disco balls I've created in my mind to stay alive.
Silver fire brings to focus the river of blues inside the body. The veins that twist and bend and bleed to move the images on the screen. Project the dreams. Can we open our eyes?
She's not asking this time.
She's telling us.
We must see the sunrise.
There's something real on the horizon.