Mid-Winter (Venus Ii) Poem by Leon Moon

And in the midst of a deep sleep
You realise what keeps you awake;
A lack of harmony can only creep
Through manors poached before you speak.

Below the peeling shadows of a bronze sky
Two immovable responses dance above your head,
Baptising you as sunlight through crackling blinds —
They take the form of two peasant-gods
Begging for an instance they forged;

When there is one laughing
There is always one crying;
What does it mean to escape from Hell
And never return?

The familiar route of melancholy
Rambles to me in reverse;
Guts me to the idiom of how to be is to rehearse
And that to be alone is to be free,
Where true nothing can be seen —
I am too distracted by what could've been,
The past is an ever-flowing sanctuary
Rigging the horizon to a concave of bear traps,
Enthralling existence in the delirium

Of being for one's own sake,
Where death is the last form of love to keep;
And in the midst of a deep sleep
You realise what keeps you awake.