For the Lovers and Lunatics

We live a fragile reality
we who put words on paper
call ourselves poets
wait for death
and fame and fortune

We know that the moon
is only yellow mud
not magic or made for
the lovers and the lunatics

We know what only a fool denies
we know more
things known out of love
for the lovers and the lunatics.

Decembers

A much younger man
in terms of miles
and scars

Offered her himself
and all that he had been
and would ever be.

Older now, and wiser,
or maybe just more aware
maybe cynical

All I have to offer is myself
no future known
no past forgotten

Knowing, all the while,
that all too soon...
it won’t be enough

Paris
(anytime)

I may never see Paris
not in any spring or any dream

But I once made love
to a girl
who spoke French fluently.

For some of us...
it is enough

{HOME} {NEVER FEAR THE DAWN}

@copyright 2000-2001, may not be reproduced without the permission of the author, Isnala Mani, or Dragonfeather Designs.