A pale face in the darkness
A pale hand reaching out
To the Moon above the water,
Ripples like stairs
Leading up to the heavens.
My muse looks like her
Light shrouded in darkness
Not dead
But not here.
The shadow of absence contorts the idea,
No longer human,
To that of perfection.
To that
Which cannot be reached.
The Earth is cold upon my back.
My eyes play vector to the stars.
A Life in Poems 