Gazing at the moon,
Thoughts drifting,
unable to composite any congruent images in my mind. Emotions rage over the edge,
to some insane origin. It’s proportion frightening. My chest is tight, It won’t expand, normal function lost to me. My mind is closed to anything but the thoughts that are a mixed mass formed from the rage. Do I have the capacity to do harm? Put to action the variable ideas born of this rage. Visibly shaken to the core, With no outlet for the rage I sit on edge,
uncertain...Yet I gaze, Dissecting the form of the moons surface wanting to vanish in one of it’s great craters. Would that the rays of the moon could fall from the space above and descend upon my face feeding my heart with light. I think I saw the man in the moon, Gazing back at me, I believe he dropped a tear,
a reflection of my own.