An owl on the moon Quotes

“I am a waning bird
encased in a glass sphere;
I cannot see my prison,
and my cries no one can hear.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“I am a waning bird
encased in a glass sphere;
I cannot see my prison,
and my cries no one can hear.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“In freedom you form in utter disgrace,
the bars of my prison this night.
While you drift on currents of seraphim heights,
it is I who deserve to take flight.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Some say the ocean roars,
I hear it ever weeping.
Weep, ocean, weep for those gone before.
Weep, O sea, for the open graves that fill your shore.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Peace is not found in the sea.
It is found when I dream of eternity.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“To your simple existence, do not boast;
merely to breathe or move or think is not to live.
The shore of the sea is but a ghost,
compared to the depth its wholeness gives.
You exist in the miry foam;
make the ocean depths your home.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Wander with intent
into a garden glorious.
Walk with double brisk
upon edenic paths.
Flee the cursing fear
that lights upon your eye.
Seize the twisted dream
that strangles earth and sky.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“I touched the moon last night;
a golden glow beyond my grasp.
Eons before me it rested there.
It will remain when I am dust.
My hand now glows from the embrace.
Voices echo through nights past,
and with the glow, caress my face.
My finger faints from what will last.
Alone I am; alone secure;
the moon will last when I am gone.
A Master set it in its’ place,
to move the tide, refresh the dawn.
Unnumbered eyes have felt its rest;
have looked upon reflected light.
My heart is moved away from pain;
I touched the moon last night.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“I long to drift through turquoise skies;
race the wind in rampant flight.
Ruddy chains have framed my eyes,
they seize my heart and stain the light.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Then, as a single snowflake flares and flickers upon voicing its final breath, so two eyes make silent conversation with mine. A face as iridescent as candle-fire purls verse and poetry. My eyes read her every intent as a wave of recollections floods my senses.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“O, the sorrow of us all,
to wander the earth in a shell.
And looking to the heavens,
we lay to rest in hell.
The suffering of the innocent
in the midst of Jacob’s well.
How the miles fled between us,
and that distance is still great.
Though on the same shore we now sit,
in temporal quietude to wait.
The moon is our bright witness;
it will lead us to the gate.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Deep blackness waits outside;
a veiled inferno it attempts to hide.
We see no more than dark clouds growing,
but set inside, a fire is glowing.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“If only I had feathered wings,
that could bend and curve and reach,
beyond imagined dreams,
unhindered by the weight of earth.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“But with what wonder has the season come?
Its treasure lies in earthen ships,
that carry dreams across the foam.
And how your memory of Sarah rapes
the fleshly heart that once bore scenes,
now veiled in smoky stains of tears;
it cries as on its crutches leans,
and ever fills itself with fears.
Be born anew to taste the sky
Lay waste cocoon and upwind fly.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“I roamed alone;
O, barren dreams.
My echoed voice,
what lonely comfort.
Here is my salvation:
I hear the triumph drum;
the rhythm of the rising,
the long-awaited sun.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Playful footsteps, a child’s footsteps
dance over mud and mire.
What seems a horror to eyes of age,
brings joy to a child’s fire.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“A pebble thrown in a pool
may ripple from end to end,
but tossed into the sea,
it is swallowed by enormity.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“I walk the sand alone,
and feel it stirring as I roam,
upon this breathing earth,
where wave on wave begins new birth.
I sense a grand facade,
where colors paint the hand of God.
And in remorseful pain,
I dance the stones of bitter strain.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“This morning I breathe iced air,
and wander toward the waves.
For a moment I live without care;
a moment all my heart craves.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“Golden bars make no less a prison
than a coffin on a hill.
And in caged reformation,
one wanders aimless still.
The rafters now a recollection
of sacred suppression.
How the morning dawn
strikes mourning confession.
Now Death yields a harvest
of the living masses.
We walk toward its path
no earthly power surpasses.”
― Craig Froman, An Owl on the Moon: A Journal From the Edge of Darkness

“A screaming silence surrounds us. The waves claw the shore in hushed strokes. My words claw at my throat. “In silent words, you speak so much.”
“And you, though you speak volumes, say precious little. Don’t you know that words are actors set in motion, and you are the playwright. They can create a mood of harmony or destroy peace in violent isolation. Words are civilians or soldiers; artists or autocrats; worshippers or pagans. They make you rich or sell you into poverty. Master them and you rule, or be mastered by them and serve.” She pauses as if in reflection.
“Words can sway the masses; words can sway your own soul.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel pauses as he glances at the moon’s rusting reflection. He steps away, but speaks in hushed tones:

“The wind has no voice.
Its muted strain is movement,
in chords of shifting silence.
And through breathless rhythm
and measureless melody,
it plays across earth’s landscape.
Even here, the mundane gives birth to the mysterious.”

We rest beside the sea in wonder, waiting for the stars to lace the moon.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Here on the walkway lie distant dreams of orange in October, with its outer mystery and inner disfigurement. A shrill cry from a little one pierces the blackness, as the moon is shrouded in a solemn veil.
“In our bags place a treat. In our hearts some bittersweet.”
And I, “Take what you will of these melting dreams; sweet but for a moment.”
As the little soldiers walk away, I turn and go to my inner room. Locking the door, I close my eyes...”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“He had said of me, ‘You are fated to be life’s passive participant,’ but I wrestled fate to the ground and suffocated its’ fortune. And yet, his laughter still mocks me, for though the earth has been my stepping stone, only here at the oceans’ side do I feel at ease. Only in your stillness do I find rest.
I am a waning bird
encased in a glass sphere;
I cannot see my prison,
and my cries no one can hear.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“We live as emotional transients in a world of isolation. Oh, if I could only borrow back so many wasted moments, but only the arrogant have no regrets; so much is paid for with borrowed time.

The infant road,
the child’s path,
in the rising tide of the day,
is the aged road
the dying path,
in the dusk where mortals play.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel,” I speak through weariness, “God has given me little hope and less strength. I hear only a voice saying ‘no’ from the wings of this circling stage.”
“Ah, because we worship the gods of the arts in our wavering world; the mock souls and masked faces with painted-on peace. What do you expect of a forgery?” He pauses as he turns toward me. “Reality is no longer relevant.”
Darkness chokes the moon as we rest on stirring sand.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?” I stand at a dreadful distance.
He speaks,
“Silent stones of granite hue;
enveloped now in sacred dew.
Speak somber words of restless hope...
of resurrection.”
I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Daniel seems to rise above the moon with a brilliance in his eyes. He steps toward the sea and screams, more in defiance than rage.
“Mortality; O wretched death and mortality!
Decay is a demon dream, schemed in symmetry.
O, that death crucified might halt its talons,
for all will ascend from the grave!
Remember the fallen, the slain; their dust is our foundation.
Consider their suffering and pain; for there lies a new creation.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“Above this crystal pool are rows of lighted candles, flames flickering in the wind. Carved orange lanterns line the crags.
O, ignisfatuus,
foolish fire.
O, the lantern
in the mire.
Spirits quaking
with the light,
demon darkness,
far too bright.
Orange whispers,
yellow cries;
ever-haunting,
numb good-byes.
Good-bye, O childhood;
Farewell, my nickel joys.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

“This unholy masquerade
when reality does fade,
the imprint of the God
on our mortal-stained facade.
Saints and spirits strip the earth
of the straining hope of birth.
“Kill the hope with grasping grave,”
cries the earthly mortal slave.”
― Craig Froman, An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness