This poem has emotional relevance and meaning to me, but I still welcome a critique with microscopes and razor blades.

Final Ode


Remember when I sat in the window to smoke,
the sun in bloom over tight-packed roofs.
We bundled together against winter cold
and found such warmth.


There was a time I pretended to be lost,
and we arrived and were expected.
Oh, the joy I saw then, sudden and true.
But it rained too, and I was cruel. Ignorant.


We nested under mountains which we climbed and claimed
and renamed to show our conquest,
but stubborn and selfish I magnified the roots
catching my ankles and anchoring my feet.
When the moon stood ready, full over the forest,
and we rested at the peak,
I sought new paths and made my way
to where this moon never rises.


For a thousand days and half again,
everywhere I've watched the moon,
waiting and waiting for it to rise the same,
catching its face behind every tree,
wishing it full and watching me,
but knowing my place,
and knowing how mortals shine.


All great blessings upon you.
Has your moon yet risen full?
I'll forever watch to see you rise,
to sing the depth of your midnight eyes,
grace and resilience, and a future
of sparkling brilliance.


My future is red and I choose it happily,
and the past will scratch into dust,
but parts of my heart will always hold fondly
to the moon, and flowers in June.