Paper Moons

Paper moons held by the thread of our disbelief,

leave us nothing but cold shadows on a paper motif.

They dance when the wind blows though our hearts,

whooshing and whisking away our sorrows.

November days will melt into leaves,

falling into graves of the unbelieving.

Falling like the stars or shooting across our hearts,

they dance in a pretty ballet.

Just tie me to the edge of a kite, we can see the whole world upside down.

Lets whisper secrets with glistening tears,

and as the sun begins to fade…

hand in hand we'll fall with the rain.