Newtonian Blues

Newtonian Blues

The sky is alive tonight, my dear.
Pearly grey swirls of cloud chatter,
trading teardrops against the dying sun.
They pass through its gentle solar blows,
That are far too domestic to notice.
So they ride the whims of 2 ring memory
A ceremony for bitter hearts and a twisted emotion
Called faith.
And thick red welts coat its cotton-candy
For an hour or so.
Every night.

The skies nearly died, tonight, my friend.
Its shiftless stacks Ploughed into regiment by Odin himself.
As he thunders amid humid half currents.
All the while, Listening to the moon
sing Newtonian blues
Through Opaque, parallel, bubble-wrap tubes.
He's trapped you know. Right now, my dear.
Trapped between crashing to earth
And freefalling to a strangers orbit.
Seems the moon always needs someone
To stop him running free
As if freedom costs that much to implement
At least successfully, Anyway.

Post apocalyptica skies are melting
And yet the earth and moon still follow
A flash of charming auroras from a rearranged sun
promising a happy change
To the curdled clouds and slow baked streams
On a first come,
first serve basis.
And painting heavens like a creative Midas
With a gentle brush stroke, not a hell fire punch
To plate everything in gold once more.

2 satellites circling a brighter future;
a fa?ade too bright to watch.