A Glass Of Water
A glass of water sat on a book of poems,
Hiding the moon,
Pointing out the angels,
Jutting out of the window.
An ominous feeling fills the air.
The moon being covered darkens the room.
The glass is removed from atop the book.
No ring of liquid is left on the book,
But the book is now very cold.
In the light of the new moon,
The golden letters, spelling the name of the long dead poet, gleam.
His ghost leaves the book and enters me.
I am cursed.
The light is burnt.
The door is broken.
I cannot stop writing.
I hide the moon again.
Little Blue Boy
I'm walking back from where I've been,
I hear that same old sound again.
I see him stare a'way up high,
I say, 'Little Blue Boy, why do you cry? '
He turns his head and looks at me.
I see his face from across the way.
Tears on a face like that shouldn't be.
His eyes shut tight, and I hear him say,