Thief of the Moon

I whispered soft to the night, and came upon a thief of the moon;
he had in his hands all his loot, each pink blossom that could bloom.
His fingers were bleeding and scarred, white stripes that had been there too long,
the seared teeth of the thorns and the burrs, and the shards of petals still hanging on.

The man held his hands out to me, asking what he could not say.
His eyes shone the moon and the stars, his lips formed the words, “don’t turn away.”
The streetlamp flickered above us, the crickets sang some sweet chirp,
the grasses whistled with the breeze, and the silence haunted some unspoken words.

I fell to my knees on the ground, took his broken hands into mine,
blew away every petal, plucked away every thorn, washed the blood away with red wine.
The blood and the wine seeped into the mud, and saturated the homes of the small.
The autumn spilled into the colorless leaves, and as days passed, they started to fall.

Snow whispered past, a moment in time, the theif’s eyes upon mine never left,
never blinked, never cried, never betrayed but a word, and slowly once more turned to theft.
Slowly my heart faultered, slowly it rose, I lost sight of where it might be,
and behind rosy glasses, I never noticed the binds, or the cuffs on my wrists keeping me.

I watched helpless as he stole my heart, took from my chest still beating strong,
it pulsed in his hands, soft, fragile, and glass, but tainted with undue and unforetellable wrongs.
The flesh walls fell to bricks on the ground, leaving it vulnerable.
Beneath walls, beneath brick, behind the bone of my ribs, a blossom so small, so beautiful.

I reached for the bloom with my hands, grasped soft and gentle but came back empty,
the thief staked my shackles in stones that hadn’t been there before, and held my heart too far from me.
His eyes flashed some chronic alleviation, of some poison that slowed in his veins.
His scars healed as if cured, his voice whispered some relief, and the blood disappeared from his stains.

But above us the rains had come soft, too soft to hear beyond settled mists.
The dam had run full, streams slid down the edges; there would be no surviving through this.
The levies cracked and broke down, shards of stones fell to muck and the river flowed out.
The flood scoured every nook, caught every last soul, caught us last, and spilled over our mouths.

I closed my eyes and dreamed of some other place, far and away of this sea.
The thief caught my lips, and placed on them this kiss that scattered and disoriented me.
I opened my eyes, frightened and confused, caught him staring into my eyes, the thief.
I opened my mouth to say anything and choked bubbles of rainbow when I noticed I could breathe.

My shackles and chains disappeared, my heart glowed this golden aura,
of every other heart and soul, tainted by ills too sour and unkind, I’d survived some new Sodom and Gommorah.
The thief told me that love made one pure, that seasons had passed with me remaining here,
that in my happens to stay, my actions had sold my heart, that I loved the thief, that much was clear.

That perhaps it was not such a crime, to steal blossom of heart behind wall,
that I had held no resistance, ’twas no thievery, if I had already forgiven this fall.
That he had his right to my heart, only for him had it bloomed,
the other buds came with thorns, but mine not a one, and that I loved my thief of the moon.

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