Stars

Dark blue sky

if you could write private things

you could write

a love poem

about the moon and stars,

that shoot across the sky

fantastic comets

from heaven

in colours purple and gold

leaving behind them

A blazing trail

of fire

but it’s what’s left unsaid

in the dark quiet

in the park on a bench

alone

bored maybe

thinking about

watching a movie or something

But sitting down at your desk

to write in your black book

things, things

even those you don’t want anyone to read

after all a diary

is sacred

Such as light.

perhaps the erotic scrawlings

of Celeste

are  best

left unspoken

at the bottom of some

dark chamber

then there’s the asylum

the head shrinks

stability and trust

never mind lust

and work is a must

you miss you fuss

you hiss you huss

you blush you shush

you walk don’t rush

Oh really I could go on

But I want it to be short

Few words to express

the simplicity

of fools.