Disarming

We came
for their guns,
but got shot dead
on arrival.

My Friend… The Moon

As I collect the remains of the day
I think about what was…
I pick up the broken pieces of her
I sweep up the broken promises of mine
I gather my thoughts

Come night,
I’ll talk with my friend… the Moon.

He’ll tell me a love story
He’ll tell me about his beautiful woman
A woman… He never sees
A woman… He never speaks to
But his beautiful woman nonetheless

My friend will tell me
not to worry…

I’ll find a new woman
She will be perfect for me
… just like his woman

She will be beautiful
… just like his woman

She will have fiery red hair
… just like his woman

But, I tell him
You’ve never met your women

and he says
Neither have you… yet

*I originally tried to write this in french but due to the pesky rules about the Moon being feminine, it didn’t work…. I’ll pen a french poem soon though.