Hannah Flowersthe moon is a woman,
the way her light shines
upon us in our darkest times.
she is full of blemishes,
but her craters are a mark
reminding of what she’s survived.
her aura is stunning,
bright white surrounded by
colours unseen to the naked eye.
without her, the sun,
egotistical, left unchecked
would surely fall from the sky.
sie ist eine frau,
die mond und ihr sterne,
ohne sie, verschwindet die zeit.
what once was sacred is cursed perhaps it could be worse the temple at which i’d pray overrun now by this wraith my messiah led me astray that’s what you get with blind faith my friends were also fool
can you feel me looking at you? can you hear me whisper to the moon? in the same way i felt you refrain heard the breaking of these chains as i tried to hold onto your frame after i had been an earthq
you asked me to meet you in a dream yes, i will, i replied swiftly for a moment’s pleasure seems far more important than honesty. have you ever watched a mushroom grow? some have spores which, at nigh