The Moon On Peter Pan

The Moon on Peter Pan

There once was a boy Made of starlight and pixie dust Who’s shadow leaked sunshine And eyes sparkled with liquid happiness Who’s smile was painted on in innocence There once was a boy Who Lady Fate decided to leave behind Who Father Time decided to patronize Who was too slow to outrun life And so decided to fly There once was a boy Who caught life’s attention Floating in the breeze And she became so infatuated with his determination That she demanded I part the seas And raise salvation for him There once was a boy And light loved him so Beams of sunlight kissed his skin And danced with him all day My children of moonshine tore themselves to ribbons and descend from their home in the sky

To hold and bathe him through the night There once was a boy Who never stopped running But could not stop childhood From melting off him as he did Leaving sticky honey footprints on the sand And an empty jar within him Who’s darkness was far from liquid There once was a boy Who wanted with everything he did not have left To remain that way Who’s shadow took residence within him On the days the light grew bored and stayed away There once was a boy Who held on to the rope of youth so tightly It left burns upon his hands Turned his palms callused and raw And left him breathless and aching There once was a boy Who never learned how to sew And so wore his clothes torn And his wounds open

There once was a boy Who thought he played hide and seek With Lady Life And did not know he was running From his own silhouette There once was a boy Who ran out of pixie dust And happy memories And time There once was a boy Who looked up at me at night And wept tears of sorrow no child should know And I could not wipe his tears And so he wept more There once was a boy Who begged to be held And so I called on my oceans to caress him Until at last, he let something in And they found solace within each other There once was a boy Who was barely a boy at all

“I love you, Andrea,”

“I love you, Lucy. Thank you. Thank you. I am so sorry,”

“I love you,”

“I love you,”

A brush of the pad of her thumb over my knuckles on the hand with the knife and she interlocks the fingers of our free hands.

I hold on to her words. Her promises. Her. I hold on to her.

“Andrea, come now, please. Before the music ends. I would like to go with the sound of something lovely,”

“You were so lovely,”

“Andrea,”

“I love you,”

“I love you,”

She is raising her hand–my hand, to her throat. Mine is closing. I can feel her heartbeat practically trying to escape her chest and mine seizes.

“On the last four notes,”

My hand is shaking those her’s is steady. Lucy. My home. My hope.

“Andrea, my hand may falter but yours cannot,”

I was going to massacre something beautiful.

“I love you Lucy,”

“Andrea,”

“I love you,”

“I love you,”

10 notes. The tears have stopped and I don’t know when that happened.

9 notes. My breath has stopped, and I don’t know when that happened.

8 notes. My world has stopped turning, and I don’t know when that happened.

7 notes. My mind has stopped running in circles, and I don’t know when that happened.

6 notes. Her hair is darker then it was last week and I don’t know when that happened.

5 notes. The soft space between her thumb and forefinger is callused and I don’t know when that happened.

4 notes. The piano player has started at the beginning of the fourth last bar again, and I don’t know when he decided to do that.

16 notes. She is leaning all the way into me. Giving me all her weight. How am I sitting my straight? I don’t know when she did that.

15 notes. “Andrea,” 

When did she start using my first name? I don’t know when she did that.

14 notes. Presses the tip of the blade into the left side of her throat with our right hands. Her touch soothes me and riles me, I don’t know when it started doing that.

13 notes.“Our love is intangible, they cannot take it,”

12 notes. I know.

11 notes. I remember

10 notes.When she started doing that.

9 notes. Saying,

8 notes.“I love you,”

7 notes. I will remember

6 notes. When she stopped.

5 notes.“Andrea,”

4 notes.“Now,”

3 notes.“I love you,” I breathe.

2 notes.“Now,”

1 note. Her hand drags. Her weight shifts. She moves. I follow. Just like it has always been.

T H I S

And then you smile at me, and I remember that this, this is what I gave up all my good poetry for. Because when I am with you, heartbreak is over rated.

-why i cant write love poems

09.20.19.

~T.R.

And what are we all trying to do, except poetry away the pain.

~A Writer's Paradox

Wayward Son Highlights: Part One

(mild spoilers)