Leon Moon Poems

Then, with a weak hand, he wrote:
‘I must stop dreaming, I am nearly seventeen,
To forge that grand old age bespoke
I mustn't rest in an evocation wisdom has yet seen
...

Condemned to the last subjective death,
Freed by the assessment of sorrow,
Frenzies of glass crystallise a breath
Preserving the final reign of tomorrow.
...

Only If I had the braveries of Dawn,
Where all is possible and all is seen
But I jump out of bed and arch in drowsiness
Putting socks, trousers and idleness all on my suit
...

It turns out, and with all spiritual sincerity, I belong to the Eve of Starvation.
An infinity objectifying its own existence, I slaughter the opportunity of eternal nothingness, weaving flesh from a pendulum struck by a tear of lightning.
Everything tilts but never turns, seemingly capsizing without ever fully being sunk.
This rare moment we call the universe cherishing its own existence is pure negation.
...

The Earth I find
Is the centre of my mind;
Despite infinity
It shows itself to me;
...

Deprived of her depravity
She relies on for sanity,
She rips me apart so silently,
Crushed by the wind of her armed neutrality,
...

invent your enemies
before you have nothing
wage war on the solidarity
that you deem counterfeit
...

the wife's laugh diffuses her husband's
rudeness
and the older women only seem to stare
less
...

In the paradise of my solitude
Where heaven is self-evident
The space cannot be brewed
Or preserved into a mood.
...

tears have created rivers of rust
down the cheeks of Medusa's bust
on she gazes: yet to be saved in dust!
...