In the waxing and waning of the moon
through the aging of youth
we fly in circled ellipses
Trapped within the shade
they long to be free and away
seem to be caught in the relay
Maybe that is all
our mortal existence
recycled umbridges of the Earth
What nutrients is fed
even of the butterflies that are dead
to the world in mellowing bends
Vibrance esqueezes out
of patterned coats
rearranging around in desperate hope
Odd how we find more value
in the living than the dead
whose beliefs linger in structured abyss
That everything exists
outside of someone else’s joke
no echoing choke
Of renegades perception
who ought to tell of
pre established ideas
I beg for me to bore from them
To be of the very essence
creation of the creator
where off to one can soar
If they do not persist
words of decayed tongue
brush past in ashed substance
Renew
Kail Anderson 