The Blue Moon
Cycling gently through the night,
In the shadow of the mind,
A figure I guessed appeared before my eyes
A good or bad angel; I can't decide.
The blue moon in the basket in my bike,
Which I tendered to my hike.
The moon has cracked and the creature is born,
It will reign until the night is gone.
Tommorow I will find a new moon,
With the sorrow memories of the previous boon.
A mere mirage of a friend appears before
And splits in half underneath the shine.
With new hopes comes another day
Annihilating the hopes of another devil born gay
To fill my heart with hope again,
I set of on my bike for another day
To find another blue moon alike
To save the world from a holocaust of night.