Fleeting Flames; Flickering Light Poem by Sonny Rainshine

What about those turbulent years
when lust and love tyranted over us
like Idi Amin.

Appointments canceled, careers postponed,
friendships withdrawn, adversaries disregarded,
stellar and planetary matter deified,
practicality defied,
the moon was our counselor.

The quckening pulse
that fired the raw wires
of the brain; the dementia
of love, its dimensions
unchartered and therefore alarming,
captured us
like a channeled spirit,
like meth, like opiates,
like all consuming
addiction.

Today you sleepwalk
off to your sterling cube,
you never notice the moon,
waiting up there,
still wise.

We’ve settled, yes settled,
into a quieter dream,
less fiery, more furious,
but more likely
to last another day.