by Matthew Leaf
And everybody knows we’re made of stars, but only stars that built an iron heart.
The anger that we know will scarcely make a sound,
the pathos that we show shall be renounced,
when every star falls down.
And what does it all mean to be a part, and what good does it do to be apart?
Till my carcass is found sixty feet underground,
I’d still be my very own only faithful son, epitome, embodiment, and best paragon.
by Izzy Soper
The bewitching glare of a moon in the dark sky
White like a lily petal dropped into the sea
And the deathly stillness of the night reclaims
What day had taken in its blaring noise
Its every movement covering the tracks of the night
And as the moon sways in soft motions above
The tracks of the night return with nature’s strum of midnight
Still, solitary, silent
And slinking through the trees, chasing away every trace of day
And with a tremor to shake any light from the sky
A howl echoes across the stars that slowly
The guardian of the night returns to his post
To watch with fire lit eyes
As the hours of heavy dusk creep quietly by.