Moon Song

the shifting shadow inside me
that still communes with that moon,
they were as one before the beginning,
riven by another unspoken ending,
two parts of a whole,
the finite light and dark
still waxing and waning
between them,
in perfect symmetry.

For the micropoetry prompt at Real Toads

Before This

before this,
before the screams, the silences, the wars,
before the forsaken children,
before the thickening blood streams,
before this convulsing universe,
its symmetric finesse of rhythm and chaos,
of being and ending,
of perfection and serendipity;

before the
failed prototypes,
were laws scratched on empty space,
laws that would glue the world together,
so the first idea would find wings,
so the first vision would bear fruit,
so there would be nurturing,
so there would be life;

but he was orphaned before the battle,
washed up on an alien beach,
where the words for life and death
and mother and father
sounded as strange in his mouth
as his own borrowed name;

and she, the rebel runaway,
each step forward into the dark
like the hard stroke
of a fine steel brush,
scrubbing away
the greasy fingerprints
of her mottled genes;

alone, together,
flouting decrees,
floating in peace,
though the first plan had failed,
though the broken world ailed,
in the desecration of existence,
in the accretion of dissonance,

they sat in the cold,
his hand moving on hers,
an invisible umbilical cord
still binding them to a cosmic navel,
that pulsed with one song,
that admitted no wrong,
there had to be nurturing,
there had to be life,
it had to begin,
one more time,
before the end.

For the Poets United midweek prompt “Parenthood”.