Quiet Moon

Here I am, every night, digging two by two foot holes in my yard. Why, you ask, sir passing me by? Well besides the fact that I don't recognize your stride in my part of town, I suppose you're trustable enough. Honestly I just love telling people.

Just a year ago I was madly in passionate love and I wrote a seemingly endless slew of love poems. Sadly, that relationship ended in tragedy, so I buried them all in a bottle in my yard somewhere one evening, at roughly 2:25 am. I was in quite a fit of emotion, so I don't quite remember just where though.

The thing is, and get this, I am in another relationship now!

I have those feelings again but I forgot how I expressed them so eloquently before, when I was wholly open and purely devoted, devout, I suppose being the right word. So every night at 2:25 I dig just one more hole in my yard until I can find it, or until my yard is all one big hole.

I do suppose it could have been washed away in a heavy rain, it does flood here...

Well that's thought for another night once my digging is done, good morning to you sir, and I'm happy to make your aquaintence.

My name?

Oh my name is Unbridled Youth, thank you very much.

And I return to my selfish shoveling, simply searching for expired expressions of immitated feelings, transposed unto another host. For I feel quite strongly almost constantly, so honestly I just need a lover to promise me they accept all the affection I have to give.

This is how I thought about us before, and now that you're not part of us, I still don't feel much different about it all. One day you will find meaning in these things, for my hand is balled tight, gripping firmly at your heart strings.

Someone will love me for all the elegant words I can say.
Is it you?


The Quiet Moon mocks me, laughing at my simplicity of mind and deed. And yet I tap merrily to the beat of my shovels unearthing my past beneath dirt until my fingernails are as black as my ambient skyline.