THE MEANING OF THE MOON
© Electric Babylon Music Author: M.M.
Despondent beyond all reckoning, I sit here in the worlds end throne, I
don’t know why this suicide hasn’t killed me, seems my weightless will
is not my own, the moon is my only friend tonight, the only empathy I
can gather and feel, a train’s cry puts ages in this moment, divided by
the fictions hope of the real.
The whole history of the death of fathers, puts all sorrow to song and
season, but in folk tongue I want to sing, this book of agonies in it’s
grudge of reason, there is no mercy in this cold moonlight, only the
slow dissipation of wonder's fault, and meaning is never implied only
inferred, truth just a subject of this action of thought.
Why is pain the only compensation, for this survival; this defeat of
days, and this raging heartbeat; rhythms only proof, of the syncopation
of the river’s ways, this inarticulate hurt that haunts the eyes, in every
one you meet like a moon in a pond, with no ocean to empty this ache,
we all share of this birth right bond.
Memory outweighs the moment ever, by sustaining the boneless bulk
of the past, and I visit the graveyard of everything I never did, now is
the mold that was then cast, if I could match the symbols to the
moods, I could put the light to the haunting’ of Leo, and this agnostic
astrology that I moon over, could be known by nonsense-neo.