Boast of Quietness - Jorge Luis Borges

Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors.
The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.
Sure of my life and my death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them.
Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.
Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.
They speak of humanity.
My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland is in the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensible, singular, worthy of tommorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.

Dreams on a moonbeam

when the moon went sickle,
I saw you lying in her safety.
It was only a glimpse, but I knew you cared.
If only you were here. If only the moonbeams could carry you down.

But alas, you live by the silver light. Only a touch away.
My soulmate, my friend.
Only you give me strength.

Your name is hope, your name is love.
Your name is the future. But above all, your name is hope.

And I have to succumb, your name is faith.