To The One Anticipating Poem by Leon Moon

You're the divinity of a shadow forever bleeding beneath the light of an eclipse; possessing the ability and experience of all life, the last thought for a death you forged, a sacrifice to the compliment before the action picking the face off an orphan hiding her molten tears, Hades' fatal desire, from no one but you, you succumb to the subjective art of sacrilege which suffices you to neglect all hospitality and companionship, to renown your prestige of general loneliness, to crown yourself a martyr of space.

The Psyche smoulders within memory -a principle now condemned to the illusion of the cravings for stability, the habit professing the reason or it's own enslavement. You become your own Sun.
Pathetic journeys to posterity and prophecies despised by the senses -division of notion -seem to possess all these orange and green bounties acclaimed to be the microcosmic remedies of eternal possibility elucidating motion in the universe, as lavishing as the requiem,
the reason for the evil now omnipresent within this dream.

I am not whole. Which soul ever is if it is to never know itself, or always will? Always aware, catalysing disparity, humanity's cradle of identity, these pavements making a rattle of planets lined with weeping children not yet born will be filled by the morning, the star masked by it's own light.