The moon stares at me through my window
in blinks of wind branch and silhouetted leaves.
Sleep hides beneath the covers and far from my pillow.
Why do questions stalk peace as thieves
well trained to invade as soon as my head
screams for the mind numb only slumber relieves?
I walk the hours of sun fighting off the dread
of a world drunk on building tribes to squander freedom
on divisive rants of rewind, repeat, the lies must be
fed.
In the wrinkling of my nest I curse an apple eaten,
Genesis ink knowledge is evil, inquiry needs suppression.
Morning sings rebellion, but night moans beaten.
Mother Moon, please speak, give me direction
on how I can sleep when compassion is pilloried on
tongues of aggression.
