writingsofthemoon

[writingsofthemoon]

Nostalgia feels sarcastic lately.

[writingsofthemoon]

Strings and yarns strewn about.

In those eyes i devout,

I saw it all.

I saw the earthly celestial.

An early spring bloom,

like a lone bulb

in the dark room,

mild chirp cloaking noon,

the light sun

of late June.

He lifts his chin,

like an august win.

And august he must be,

for inspect his heavenly sage.

Like a fiery gleam,

his words of

threads and seam,

he comes as wild as a dream,

and swirls out

like a hushed stream.

Dazzles and star dust in his veins.

That amber skin constraints,

bursting and oozing of light.

I drink out of it.

oh, heaven, I'm here,

elated and rapt in

the taste of his queer,

galaxies buzzing in, near,

do you hear them,

like whispers too quiet to fear?

He and I, I barely feel the line thin.

Like an ocean dancing on my skin.

Gaudily I soak up

Every last of his presence.

Oh lord, his entirety,

that ravishing and

seductive intensity,

ugh- utmost satiety,

i elude myself

in his beguiling immensity.

-from MOON,

To the poet

who thinks he could never be the poem.

[writingsofthemoon]

there are faces that speak without moving,

That ache without wounding,

That burn without flame—

And in such a face I saw

Not the world as it is,

But the world as it should have been.

A winter sun behind her shoulder,

Not fierce, but honest,

As if God Himself had stepped away for a moment

To see what mercy might look like in skin.

She does not smile to be seen—

She simply is,

And the world scrambles to assign meaning

To what was never seeking it.

The tilt of her head—not coy,

But full of ancient knowing.

In the quiet wars she fights

Between kindness and silence,

Between chaos and restraint,

Something holy survives.

Look: a stray breeze lifts her hair,

As if even the wind asked her permission.

She does not command the room.

She makes the room question itself.

And those eyes…

O, those eyes that do not plead or preach—

They judge, yes, but not harshly;

They understand.

What crimes have been confessed before her

In nothing but the stillness of her presence?

What guilt has dissolved

At the altar of her soft attention?

She is not beautiful like a flower—

She is beautiful like a confession.

Or a prayer whispered

In the last breath before judgment.

And though she says nothing,

You walk away changed.

And later, alone,

You will remember not what she looked like,

But how you felt seen—

For the first time in years.

From A.G.,

To M.G.

p.s. i love you so much, my darling boy. thank you.

[writingsofthemoon]

dark is a way and light is the place,

heaven that never was

nor will be ever is always true

.

[writingsofthemoon]

though they go mad they shall be sane,

though they sink through sea

they shall rise again,

though lovers be lost love shall not,

and death shall have no dominion.

[writingsofthemoon]

Though lovers be lost,

love shall not.

[writingsofthemoon]

Light breaks where no sun shines, Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart, Push in their tides.

[writingsofthemoon]

I fear that I may always love you more than I will ever be allowed to.

[writingsofthemoon]

and the shards?

They're never lost. only scattered.

and they grow. They grow out through the womb of earth into the bones of others. Reminding me time and again what it was like to love with such passion and to be loved the same.

and it is on days like these, that i cant figure out if it is a boon or a curse.

— June Gehringer, ‘I get so jealous of euthanized dogs’ (via lunamonchtuna)

[writingsofthemoon]

and when the dark snuggles against the moonlight,

the night psithurism rustles against my angsty heart,

i think of you, dearest darling.

All i can think of is you.

[writingsofthemoon]

Ugly can never be Beautiful.

To think of it, why do people run away from ugly in the first place? why to not acknowledge or accept it? why do you even need to feel "beautiful"? why not remain ugly and still exist with as much right on this universe as anybody else?

Probably the problem lies in the core of the human existence and evolution itself. Probably the problem lies in the human being himself. Firstly, the shameless constant segregation of beautiful from ugly. Then comes the gradual yet hesitant intermixing. And now it is the era of turning ugly into beautiful, of denying the existence of ugly.

We very often hear people say- "everyone is beautiful", or "accept people as they are".

No, everyone is not beautiful, and they need not be. Because they are ugly and this is just how they are. And who are the beautiful ones to accept or reject them?

why to deny the ugliness? why to run away from ugly? what people fail to understand is beautiful cannot exist without ugly. How can you even define beautiful when you've never experienced ugly?

Be it people, places, or emotions. anything inconvenient people see, they very conveniently label them ugly. Rage, hate, selfishness, disgust, are all termed ugly, and are desperately attempted to be hidden or changed. Why so? why not to just experience it all at the fullest?

people want the beautiful and pleasing half of everything, and then complain of feeling "incomplete" or "empty". Beautiful is not beautiful without ugly embedded deep into its pores. Because that is the entirety, the truth, the very existence of the universe.

Beautiful is beautiful, and ugly is ugly.

No, ugly can never be beautiful. Because it doesn't need to be.

[writingsofthemoon]

And once again, after so long, I gave myself the liberty to drown in the thoughts of you.

[writingsofthemoon]

What do you fear of hell,

when you live in the same world as that of humans?

[writingsofthemoon]

And some things, they become clearer when you close your eyes

[writingsofthemoon]

“It’s as though something happened to make me think that things happened that never really happened at all.”

[writingsofthemoon]

[writingsofthemoon]

.

.

.

oh, the ache of disdained remembrance