I Will Carry the Moon
Is it just that I seize the throe of your peer's pluck?
I, your most faithful servant come calmly into
your womb of beauty, only to be chaffed by the lack
of it's current.
Is it I, that makes the flower wither?
I have broken such before,
under heavy moons I thought
not worth the weight of ponder.
My young heart, defeated by its own selfishness.
Will your anger be my penance for the sins
of nights spent without what I have been so
certain was to be my salvation?
Hell is surely your fury,
for nothing has ever been
as arduous as the slip of
our comfort.
And yet, I cannot let it fall, not this.
Not us.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
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