Moonlight Wakening

On nights
When the purpled charcoal sky
Hints with a smile
A time to graze under the cosmic whales,
I ascend to the candlelit clouds
And caress the moon,
Watching the gems on my ringed fingers,
As drops of sparkle and shine
Run through them like a stream.

A liquidly body of rippling ultramarine
Lies glistening below me,
And entices me
To swiftly glide across it,
Laughing with my reflection,
Whilst bushy, lamb-like maples
Invisibly stare
At the festivities untold,
Above lands soothingly shaded in cerulean.

My desire is to share this secret.
So I draw myself
To a dreamer's window sill,
And I gaze at her blue cheek,
As I gift her with dreams of my adventures
And expressions of my hopes
Of one day
Collecting every star.


-----
This one's an old one. I guess I was just having fun, not trying to send a message about anything in particular, and simply trying to write an eloquent-sounding poem. It was one of the favorites when I attended Creative Writing Club in high school, and I originally titled it, "Moonlit Wakening" but either Mr. Pasca changed it or someone else when entering my poem into the annual Writers' Block compilation. I suppose "Moonlight" sounds better than "Moonlit" but I figure the latter is less used. I hope whoever stumbles upon this poem enjoys it for what it is, as just an exploration of beauty in the night.
-----
photo credit myshots.deviantart.com

Encased in an Emerald Undersea

They see the sharp facets,
With their inherent adoration of its viridity,
Encircled by a lustrous halo.
The banqueters need a closer look
And request holding her pallid palm
For the chance to caress it lightly.
Yet here I linger inside her ring,
The golden spheres of air crawling up my face,
Imprisoned in the fathoms of an emerald
Undersea.

I am sealed by her machinistic grin
Floating, sinking, whirling
As if by whim of her moods.
My love for her I once thought true and pure,
Her love for me measurable by coin.
Here I sink
Helpless and blank as a statue
Waiting silently for when she is ready,
When my voice no longer irks her,
Ready to be my life again.

I wonder
If God knows these hidden places
And if the angels have it better,
Being born where none know tears.
The toxic green water curses my eyes
For veiling burden and weakness
As a prize.
But she knows better than me
Because I love her, said she.