I hunt the moon
as it searches the sandy shores,
looking for the key it will never find.
My licking flames
touch its hide,
illuminating it for all the world to see,
but so lost
in its task is it
that the heat worries it not.
With a whine of despair that only hints
at the true longing
in its crater flecked heart,
it extends its gentle, pale
hands down to tug at the ocean,
pulling the waves back like blankets
cast from a bed.
Come now, my friend,
I cannot remove your shackles,
but I can take you from them.
Treeshallow Musings 