Lasso the Moon


Some nights I dream
of the last rights of the snow
and dust on a dying rose,
where sadness sings a song
in my head like an old cello
that only knows one note

And some nights my thoughts
are pulled like a tide I can't chart
to the dark sky waiting for light
when the black clouds finally part

Oh, if I could only lasso the Moon
with my smoke rings, throw them high
and ask him to tune the strings on his cello
so I can breathe in the wonder waiting
for me in the stardust of eternity.

View sassylass's Full Portfolio