Dream Snatchers of Ghost Month

We tried to give them happy names
These our white fists of old
We cried in shame for how

The clean water of our dear dreams unrolled
Love, love, and well – pure tiredness
With fires where we wept

The sweetest common tears
And thought ourselves alone
We tried to give them satisfactory homes

The poems we hid in cringes
When nobody looked, we spied the world
Holding the hands of bodiless owls

Our soul crept her gaze into the heart
Of all vulnerable things, like melting subtle
Understanding, compassion so smooth

That our letters to death would not rattle us
We found peace in those slow aching years
Like a dumb fish, blindfolded

We led ourselves to the infinite
A carbon bird that would flutter and glitter
To lick all melodies back to stuffed expression
The red last burst of our own particles of doom.

poetry courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Tell-me-your-stories-393048281