Leon Moon Poems

Then, with a weak hand, he wrote:
‘I must stop dreaming, I am nearly seventeen,
To forge that grand old age bespoke
I mustn't rest in an evocation wisdom has yet seen
...

It turns out, and with all spiritual sincerity, I belong to the Eve of Starvation.
An infinity objectifying its own existence, I slaughter the opportunity of eternal nothingness, weaving flesh from a pendulum struck by a tear of lightning.
Everything tilts but never turns, seemingly capsizing without ever fully being sunk.
This rare moment we call the universe cherishing its own existence is pure negation.
...

Condemned to the last subjective death,
Freed by the assessment of sorrow,
Frenzies of glass crystallise a breath
Preserving the final reign of tomorrow.
...

Deprived of her depravity
She relies on for sanity,
She rips me apart so silently,
Crushed by the wind of her armed neutrality,
...

Only If I had the braveries of Dawn,
Where all is possible and all is seen
But I jump out of bed and arch in drowsiness
Putting socks, trousers and idleness all on my suit
...

The Earth I find
Is the centre of my mind;
Despite infinity
It shows itself to me;
...

Never tired, he lugs the weight,
Setting salt stones in his ribs.
He reaches for the weight
Which every orphan dwells for —
...

O' watery Muse of transparency!
Entwined within exaltation's summit
Eclipsing, from throats, vales of poesy
For the will of a canopying Hermit,
...

A milky way revolving in my skull,
A barrel of blood leaking from the hull.
A spec of dust floating through my chest,
A rage of lust flickering through my rest.
...

Tuning to a fate which rewires the screen
I hurl straight through the roulette of clouds
Deflating in sticky layers over a chandelier of sap,
A lid whose kiss is a reformation of solitude
...