roundtable

It was a waste of time, he was lost. Harsh liquid burned his throat as he watched, Despicable world, he hated the terrain. He thought his vision had turned red again, Twisted lies weaved across his eyes. There he was, he was found now. The words were silk cushions on his mind, Praise to his best former actions. He was always pulled back onto his feet, Running in the little pained circles. He sat in darkness, lost once more. Pale moonlight washed from the cracked window, Hands would shake uncontrollably. The body curled tight in a little ball, Red lines would form until daylight.

Streaks of red followed his gaze as he surveyed the mall and the shoppers. No one looked at him, but he looked at everyone He got up, full of trepidation. Something told him it was better to stay in his room, but he got up anyway. He could hear his roommate moving around. There were a couple calls for him, he spoke briefly to them before he left his room. There was no work today, he though, stepping in for his shower. He stepped out later, having lost track of time under the water. He went to comb is hair and saw the red marks again. They started at his face and went down to his back, and across his arms. He was glad his roommate as gon

Day, drawn long across the sky Night hiding from his presense. He is the sun, his quest the Moon. She is Moon, giggling towards the Sun. Some days she comes out to see And peeks at his running, his chase. On the bird of seeking he spots her, She is elegance, soft and lovely. To late he sees her, the bird moves on. When shall he leap after her? What day shall he leave for her? For he is Sun, and She is Moon. What can ever be of them.

A standing Grove it is, All more lit for this tree. Branches are made the delicate fingers, Autumn leaves, beautiful The mane of hair flow freely. The Willow bowed inward, Much respect she shows. Mighty Oak stands tall, Proud by her presense. There falls the peach beheaded, a feeling touches me.

Ever so gently, softly he chides As he stands o'er her bedside. For sorrow he will weep, Joy shall show it's defeat, Harsh emotion, so rapid shown. Moving tides, as he stands,he cries. Now still, that soft hand, it Lies.

A final piece, fresh with blood. Just her tattered paper, Only a little card, left for children. A simple game was played, The final card then layed. Shown plain the two simple cups, The last card played for joy.

If I stand now at a crossroads, One side lined with gold. I look up with dreary gazing. Down to the small roadside pond. Water shimmers, there it is, The color of Dragonfly. Light it glimmers, swiftly, Then it passes by. Eyes, so quick they follow, Veils the movement lifts. Seeing clearly all the roads now, Dreams I can fulfill. There she is awaiting me, My light, the Dragonfly.