Histories Poem by Leon Moon

The world is a museum where all is made into a history of voice
And eternity takes all forms of inheritance, of all loving choice;
Heaven is a cloud and hell is it's shroud, the eyes are passing
And dripping tears unto the ocean, ships and waves surpassing
The colours of the skin they kiss and dance upon,
The herring whispers and dives into oblivion.
Roaring ants in all their strength, march forward as one to battle
As the blood sipped, soaked and shed shapes the wood of a rattle
For a babies dribbling mouth. But so rich are natures wrinkles
That swallow warm rocks and gargling fish, heavy blue and flowing crinkles
In the face of a deflated goddess.
But she is always in her youth, her tears confess!
She beckons as she greys, in all of mankind's mysteries
"Life is histories, all histories! "