The Painful Truth, Hard to Admit | Morgan O’Connor
The passing Moon is love
full then thin
repeating
very few notice
barely a proud eclipse.
The aging Sun blazes bitter
high in anger and regret,
scarring noses, scalding scalps,
carving wrinkles,
generally wreaking havoc.
Earth, a sad abused woman,
gave life, shat on,
became an old uncared for cow
squirting milk into greedy mouths.
The Soul, a personal deity,
neglected, tortured, filled
with glassy wisdom and nothing else.
Then, a blink
and it all goes pointlessly away.