Lead me away, child of the moon. Sovereign and antiquity a round and around but down deep into the depths of the soul, a soul not whole, longing to be filled like the burial mounds of the makers of sound down stark with silence and reverence.
Lead me into greener pastures, a bluer sky, the white toothed grin we see again bequeathed from the friend. And from the friend all things come not truely from the own. Not truely from the own but from the one who gives me home and its undeserved and unrequited.
Lead me into the dark, child of the sun. The one who’s love comes and goes and must be won and fought for and lost and found again. To never feel your tender unsightly embrace is to be faced along corridors of doorways looking into depths of unknown calculations. Infinitesimal sorrow and worship of your hand is not quite enough.
Lead me, all. For I am dazed under a blanket of stars under a blanket of amassed certainty of certain inevitable. Find me the textures of life for I am too weak.