She is my sun, and I am her moon.
Together, we light our world.
Yet, my shine will wan.
You are my angel; an angel of darkness.
In you, I see a shrouded light.
It draws me to you.
What is this light that I see in you?
Its origin is beyond me.
I cannot tell.
She is my sun, and I am her moon.
Oh angel of the night,
What am I to you?
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The Mind
Mainly a record of my more interesting dreams that I was able to remember after waking up. (Apparently my uncontrollable confessions, as well. In the form of poetry. All to the same man.)
If the boy who draws
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.
— Alaska Gold
lets you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
smiles
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
and dust
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
a song.
— Alaska Gold