The Tormented Star Poem by Leon Moon

Every man, alone in his dream,
Tormented through suffocation,
Objectified crucifixion,
Carries the dead without ever
Losing sight of the wingless beam,
The last light to ration never
As a silhouette chasing the seen
Away from every thought culled obscene.

However, it's always too late
And we are cast to riddle love
As an image we chase above,
As is every man who ever
Thought of his lone body as weight;
Weeping for what is never there,
Horizons become our last appetite,
Laughing as we chase our neophyte.

And those heads who have caught a glimpse
Of their star, could never have missed
The fact always there to be seen
That to be alone, is too obscene.