09-29-2015, 02:03 PM
Supermoon and Mars
Between the Supermoon and Mars
there is no breath or rosy hue.
There is no life. There are no stars
to heal the heinous human scars,
however hard we wish it true.
Between the Supermoon and Mars
the conscience vacillates and spars
with God— when we’ve achieved the coup
there is no life. There are no stars
that twinkle in exhibit jars
or birth themselves by some hoodoo
between the Supermoon and Mars.
And daddies don’t pass out cigars
to celebrate a salty stew.
There is no life, there are no stars
to light the way that hubris bars,
or propagate the me in you.
Between the Supermoon and Mars
there is no life. There are no stars.
Between the Supermoon and Mars
there is no breath or rosy hue.
There is no life. There are no stars
to heal the heinous human scars,
however hard we wish it true.
Between the Supermoon and Mars
the conscience vacillates and spars
with God— when we’ve achieved the coup
there is no life. There are no stars
that twinkle in exhibit jars
or birth themselves by some hoodoo
between the Supermoon and Mars.
And daddies don’t pass out cigars
to celebrate a salty stew.
There is no life, there are no stars
to light the way that hubris bars,
or propagate the me in you.
Between the Supermoon and Mars
there is no life. There are no stars.