Sitting under the moon, I did as I often do – especially when I yearn to find the hidden secrets of life, or gain a preview of the future, or just ease my troubled mind: I mapped (with my finger tips) the bumps, ridges, “mountain ranges,” craters, and debris fields, which are found on my knee caps under my skin. These have been crafted and sculpted by many an impact.
At this same moment, it made me wonder. The moon is interesting and beautiful, in all its cratered glory, with the soft light of the sun. The moon is just like my knee caps – battered by the ages. Maybe, just maybe, I should have them salvaged from my desired cremation, then stuck back-to-back, mounted on a string, and slowly turned with a soft light at one side so they, too, could hang as a work of beauty that lovers could make poems about, and kiss under, or that werewolfs could howl about. Why not? Can't we look forward to a full knee cap and not just a full moon?
Loren M. Lambert © November 25, 2013
At this same moment, it made me wonder. The moon is interesting and beautiful, in all its cratered glory, with the soft light of the sun. The moon is just like my knee caps – battered by the ages. Maybe, just maybe, I should have them salvaged from my desired cremation, then stuck back-to-back, mounted on a string, and slowly turned with a soft light at one side so they, too, could hang as a work of beauty that lovers could make poems about, and kiss under, or that werewolfs could howl about. Why not? Can't we look forward to a full knee cap and not just a full moon?
Loren M. Lambert © November 25, 2013
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