Beyond the Moon


Within a forest, it is never light – 

precise as white flashes to reveal a full moon
midnight, trees move as color replaces white
red fire burns – blinds you –  as air causes
your skin to freeze.
This walk, longer then a mile in our distance
to stare through dark eyes – vacant as a moon
their heads tilt – a human mind drifts  
gravity no longer holds me, now it is their stare.

Inside your head this high pitched sound it
squeezes your temples, human eyes close as
you float inside their atmosphere.

Most town folks haven’t seen these flashing
lights, no reason for them to stare above oaks
no screeching sound to hold their head, and
folks have not walked or have they been lifted
through light or felt no sense of direction – no
one would picture a floor flickering – 

How reserved – a silent figure stands to observe
as they permit their minds to examine you,
allowing you to know the internal feeling of life

knowing you can tolerate the significance of
another flight – once again a child, a figure
stretches out a long arm, you touch cold skin.

You understand they are happy.

Until you have walked their distant path or  
stared into black hollow eyes of life – heard
voices without a sound – felt their touch – you
will never know nor understand, so I keep as
silent as I observe your thoughts.

Picturing slender bodies twisting as if their
pores could talk – fearless I have become for
they empowered me through silence.

This craft spins freely although I am changing
 – a body trapped beating against irridescent lights
bouncing in the middle of vacant stares. 

Color splashes on earth as seconds pass –
now nothing is familiar, a human now tied
without ropes – I have stopped floating

lights begin to flash on and off as security
returns with fear – this is the world I know,
what I recall is escapes through dreams
remembering a white light, a full moon, and

a forest – still lifted into space I see below
where I was found so long ago – and will  meet
again touching cold skin, while vacant eyes
stare through me from my head to my toes –

once more, I shall be their child without
hearing my name or knowing theirs. 
I am home where morning is beyond the
oak, and the stillness of the forest waits

for the craft has moved quickly out of sight
As if eyes cry tears, yet nothing falls
onto a face – recalling their last stare from
a window before it stretches then disappears

like the moon, it fades traveling at high
speed into another Universe as each being
grows stronger when in their space. 

As if time disappeared, and you are once

again stretched out on familiar ground.
This is earth, and those specs of memory are
leaving – as skin warms,
and color is perfect in daylight. 

Someone will find you in the forest
you have no memory beyond their
vacant stare – how far you traveled
or what your mind has stored – for who?

Your eyes were their eyes – now it is
where you belong – part of
you has become one of them. 

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Angie's Diary