Excerpt for Moonlight: The Best to Rite By by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Mister Construed X (Michael S. Davis)

Published by Smashwords

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Table of Contents:

Flickering Flame

Castles in the Sand


Homeward Bound (The Lonely Tree)


A Seed

It’s just a matter of days

Time Machine

Mother, where are you?


There’s only one way to stop time

Housewife or Ant?

Slumbering Bum



From the Dungeon to the Dump and back again

4 Hound Metaphor; life

My choice


Raped at 13

Must Drive Faster

I “DID” it

I D.I.D. it again

Pollux Davis

Crumbling Me

Through the Door

Living in a Coma

Ignorance of Me

Jack-ripped life

Always looking down

Hello Darkness


Dance with the Devil

My mind described; Taklamakan

Smell me Sweet


Beware the Blacksmith

One Shot

Old, Fat, Ugly, Fucker

I was born on a frozen January day

Yet here we are

Hear the Hounds


Sitting silently in a world of noise, I think?

Thoughts that tear at one’s mind when thought, though they are there, sometimes I try not to notice

Sometimes all I do is think thoughts that are cryptic, or romantic, or in between; what’s the difference? They’re all thoughts I think

They engulf me, sometimes surrounding and suffocating, squeezing the air from me

Thoughts, I think, are terrible things when they are encircling my mind, just thinking

A thought is nothing without expression and not knowing how to express them is a terrible thought

Thoughts without expression, are me thinking

Stephen, why don’t you love me? I loved you once, but then I read about a Girl!

A Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon

Chapter One; the only one

Wind blowing the curtains ‘round

Whistling and whirling to and fro

Dead leaves float up off the ground

Towards the sea is where they’re headed

But their true destiny is unknown

tis Autumn now

See reaped fields once sown

Leaves caught swirling, in blue-green foam

While we all lie, lie in beds of loam

Autumn comes for everyone

Flickering Flame

As I stare into the glare of the flickering flame

They say you can find yourself there

Within that stare

If only it could be so plain

But wait, am I there?

Yes, right between the orange and the blue

Is that me viewing myself?

Or is that me viewing you?

No it’s me inside the glare

I see my smiling face

No, wait a moment

There’s something there that seems out of place

I have no hair within that glare and I can clearly see that with my stare

But where is my hair?

Oh I know

The glare is coming from my hair

And as I look into the mirror from my starring place

I notice that the glare from my hair

Has started to melt my face

Castles in the Sand

Did we really love each other, or was it just a game?

Playing on the beach, building castles made of sand

The gulls would squawk and dive, but we knew that they couldn’t reach our castles

Our castles were perfect, both separate, yet combined

The tides were even unable to reach them

Yet they kept pursuing in their relentless manner

Our castles were large and strong

Like no others, sharing equally the grains of sand between each other

Neither ocean wind nor frothing sea could destroy their grace

Nor menacing bird or passing crab could remove a single grain

But on that day of salty rain the walls came crashing in

And as I sat amongst the scattered mounds I couldn’t understand

How a castle I thought so strong;

Was only made of sand?


Leather bound and caked with dust, its tattered red cover and yellowed pages in-between have heard it all

Pages could tell a life’s history past, with all feelings placed prone and barren upon their lines

They’ve known all the friends, both small and large, and the times spent together with laughter and dancing tears

They’ve known all the loves, both hopeful and capable; all the girls and young women who’ve stolen my heart

They know when summer’s here and when winter begins its freeze, and the smell of fresh flowers and the site of dancing kites in a warm springs breeze

The crunch of dead leaves is a sound that’s often heard when those pages are turned and there, placed in the middle, is a descriptive word of fall’s colors and its migrating geese

A diary knows the story of life, with all its ups and downs

Yet it never tells its grand story nor whispers even a hint of what’s written down upon its pages

Its secret is its own, for only the author to see

When a certain sunny day or pretty face wants to be remembered

All that author has to do is pick it up

And begin to read

Homeward Bound (The Lonely Tree)

It stands alone in open field

Tall and slender, reaching for bursting rays of yellow light

Its leaves sway in the warm summer’s breeze

While a singing bird, perched high gayly whistles its merry song

The meadow below grows with golden straw and waves to distant travelers

Alone, along the desolate road

It seems so lonely, all by itself without so much as a bush to keep it company

Yet it still stands proud and speaks to those travelers as they smile and think, “I’m almost home”

It’s there to remember, to show them the way, and provide for them

A broad smile, even on the rainiest of days

For when it speaks its message they always know

They’re on the right road

They’re headed home


Is there magic in the cards, or is the magic in our minds?

They tell us answers that we already know and we ask questions they can’t answer

Are there really pictures on the cards or are there just manifestations of our subconscious?

Certainly there are pictures but they’re not seen as simple pictures, are they?

The color scheme may reveal feelings, or they may not; what’s the difference?

Or is it that it’s the same difference?

The cards are said to have the answers to all the questions

Well here’s a question;

Does a circle begin at the beginning, or at the end?

Or, does it have no beginning and no end?

Consider that if it has no beginning, how can it exist?

Everything must have a beginning somewhere, and sometime

Or is it just that the beginning and the end are unseen?

Well cards, what is the answer?

Is it your fate?

Or our destiny?

A Seed

A red apple falls from the highest branch, bouncing off another

Pieces of bark and twigs penetrate through its delicate skin

Bruises cover its sheer, white, middle

It strikes upon the lowest branch and falls to the ground

Ants, and little green worms, proliferate its patches of brown mush

The seeds are all that are left, and a deer trods them into the soil

In the spring a small, green, twig forces its way up through the rotten leaves

It grows tall in the summer’s sun and rain

Then, in the fall, upon its highest branches, barely capable of being seen

There is a little red apple

Shaking in a cool falls breeze

My collection

My accumulation, My deposit on the world

It’s Just a Matter of Days

Dismembered bodies squat, writing poetic verse with silver ballpoint pens

A single tear drops into the ocean forming tsunami waves that slap against the moon

Yellow teeth grind and blackened eyes stare, remembering when they saw it last

Mushrooms burst from the richest mire and the heavens snow black upon broken earth

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