I Write To Know You Poem by Leon Moon

Without warning, you're given ecstatic
relinquishments, pure futility, the last honest disguise.

Ellie has to be reminded that Summer
lasts till September and that it is
only the beginning;
we know too well how quickly she falls.

The shape of my body is the hinge
of light that strains me to a firefly.

Abi could be loved, and I, lost,
though her silhouette was merely a passing
drought that caught my thought for a second;
it was a saviour enslaved, without his mother.

There was no sympathetic inspection,
just the praise of terminal decay.

Yoni set the pattern of realisation
in emptiness, where every vice
versa reflects the spirit to loneliness;
disappearing, her beauty is that she'll never know.

Even now I deceive the poisoned heart
it stops after I decorate my grave.

Lucy was the first immortalised death,
people still called my be my name
for I painted them running on the blankness of my bedroom walls;
the brown plaster, peeling flesh, could only comfort.

And each of them I loved, and I alone
as a child, understood the entirety of the Universe.