Window sights
The moon is visible from my window. And a couple of lovers, two dark silhouettes, on the alley street down below, stop to kiss leaning against the building wall, in the shadow of it, but I can see their figures embrace and her hand is about his neck. I feel like a spy so I look up at the moon. I hear a street door, I look down and see a crack of light, a house door closing with a clapping sound; the dark figures are gone.
And the clouds seem thick and grey and closing in but the moon shines clear like Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, but it seems to me more like moody Rachmaninoff. An still she sines through, like a reflecting pearl.
I reflect upon the end of being. I speculate that God wants a world run by love, but this world is run by lust. An endless, sick, feeble, panting, restless, dull desire, a gluttony, a thirst for consumption. And I don't want to consume or be consumed, to ravish or to be ravished, and you never know if you are safe.
It is hard not to be... not to let oneself be taken down the stream. But I know I will find what my soul is looking for, because he has found me first.
And the clouds seem thick and grey and closing in but the moon shines clear like Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, but it seems to me more like moody Rachmaninoff. An still she sines through, like a reflecting pearl.
I reflect upon the end of being. I speculate that God wants a world run by love, but this world is run by lust. An endless, sick, feeble, panting, restless, dull desire, a gluttony, a thirst for consumption. And I don't want to consume or be consumed, to ravish or to be ravished, and you never know if you are safe.
It is hard not to be... not to let oneself be taken down the stream. But I know I will find what my soul is looking for, because he has found me first.