Moth Harris Poems
#100 - Faction
It's the ghost in the mirror, the shadow in the corner of the room.
The cascading thoughts that drift through my mind so steadily.
It breaks and scrapes, takes away, again, again, another day.
It's where you are, what you've become, darkness.
It's a memory that rests in me, the forgotten, the fools.
Old weapons, just tools. A broken butter knife, made of plastic.
The sense of things that do not condence,
A mirror with no reflection, the blindness of night.
Light or dark has no preception of wrong or right.
Warmth In Fire
Embers light the fire
Brake down the bark
Fueling heart and desire
Lost from the start
Oh, but I love being lost with you
I'd say the fire lights up my life
but I don't have to
because I think you feel it too