Druid Moon...

Terrible this mass that commands me so...
Overwhelming this urge to shift...
To dissolve, to shift, to consume...
To be in any state other than my own...

These feelings are not truly mine...
And yet they are not fully without depth...
For while the moonlight may pull them from my eyes...
Are not the yearnings always within my heart?

Buried on the fleeting corners of my mind...
Hiding away in the realm of nightmares and fluff...
Cast out so that they cannot overthrow my will...
Imprisoned in their rightful Bastille so that I might thwart their willful coup...

These feelings, these mixed truths, have no place here...
They are worthless and yet I do feel them...
Yes, I always feel them...
Worming their way up into my guts like poison...

Poision, half-truths and mocking antidotes...
They ask me to take two tears and be whole...
They lie, they cannot set me free...
Nay, nor can my tears, never my tears...

I hate them so, I hate them even more for their antogonizing truth...
They whisper that you, you could set me free, if you only wanted too...
And when the moon is full and I am awash with the tide, I know that they are right...
So let the moon set, for I shall always prefer my wistful half-lies to your cruel half-truths...

- N

P.S. This painting is "Druid Moon"; by Rob Nye.