Her Affair With Aristotle

You're in the
 
Golden-gray sky 
The sun waving goodbye 
While the moon climbs up from 
Sleepy horizons 
Where God called us men 
And we called ourselves different 
Where love made us mad 
And we would plead for a return 
To sanity 
You're in the 
Beholden stare 
The admirer seeing lights 
While the artist paints nights 
To keep the truth 
Clouded 
Where the radicals call us 
Soldiers, and the philosophers call this 
A dream 
And I've known so long 
That the world goes on, but this 
Island of hope gains land 
With every one of your eruptions 
Cause I couldn't be 
Too far off, when you tighten your knuckles 
And loose your tongue 
You're in the 
Space in my thoughts where 
Desire and dissent collide 
Where every angel that flies stares 
Distrustfully at the fallen 
Disbelievingly at 
The omens 
That say we're coming around 
These mountains, with our fireflies and ideas 
Swearing we can move the rocks 
Beneath us 
And with a hearty stomp 
And an expelled breath 
We watch these monuments 
Unmoving 
These pools of thoughts drawing 
Reflections perfect and clear 
Despite our attempts to change them 
We are the ones 
Who ripple and wave 
Goodbye again 
To that golden-gray sky 
Where you've always been 
A god that caught us 
Sleeping, and instilled 
Some sense of love, peace 
To our unconscious movements 
And left our waking hours 
Unbound 
And salivating at the opportunity 
To destroy it 

So I pray 
And shake the day 
Til her grip is loosened 
So I make a wager 
And walk away 
A poorer man 
Awake 
And yet wealthy when I say 
Goodnight, goodbye 
To the gravestones I hold 
Within 

(You're in the 
Eyes of these spirits 
These ghosts of 
Sunday Mass 
Where our hopes come quick 
And leave us quivering with 
Satisfaction.)