Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Time Herbert James Draper, The Gates of Dawn, 1900 How to begin a concept with no beginning or end. A concept that simply is. Whether one will accept it or not is a narrative subject exclusively to customization. A man-made creation like luck or the Devil. Except this one is real—and all we have. I wish not the life of another, for the music would not sound the same, the books would not call to me, and these words would not stumble so poorly. The sky would be a bit bleaker, and the duck on the curbside would have meant to me what the sand is to the stars. So, see, I yearn not for the life of another. Not that life. The stability—or security, though not to be mistaken to go hand in hand— brought forth by that life and the decisions it’s taken; that is what is desired. So fiercely it is incapacitating, and consequently, stagnating. But do not mistake my dreadfully imperfect words; I wish not to live a life that’s not my own. ‘But it is so easy. Find your vocation!’ What to do when it all is? Time is not enough to perfect yourself in it all. Yet, if you dip your toes in all the absurdities it has to offer, in all that kick starts your brain even remotely, just for a blink, then you remain a dilettante. A dabbler, a fake. Fraudulent, even. A cold and grimy room. The same one I am also uncomfortable in upon becoming a virtuoso only at the expense of sacrificing all other knowledge and devoting myself to the profession I chose out of a hat. Now try too little and you’re a coward. There is too much I enjoy. so much to experiment with, to learn, to inevitably mess up so colossally I become disgraceful, to appreciate and cherish. This rock has a stupendously overwhelming amount to offer. How, sensibly, am I to choose one over the other? Thoughtlessly or not, should I not choose just one, then I remain a cheat. If there is one thing time has made us all, even if imperceptibly so, is selfish. True to myself, but selfish, nonetheless. Because I want it all. I want to speak of it all, to share it all, bond with it all. And not just the words I string together to call a book. A husband and a confidant, a companion, and a father. Naturally, a family, and this career—which, Time, o Time, has forced me to pursue— and enough friendship to make me dizzy. None of this can I deny; I am as selfish as they come. And there is only one to blame, though it is not I. I thought perhaps it was youth, the one haunted by this Time. But it’s simply the same merciful ghost that guides tired souls over. It’s the one the nescient— from pride, guilt, or fear—equal in measure— run away from, and the wise accept with open arms. The only cord you cannot cut. Time, fortunately or unfortunately is entirely up to oneself, is all. It heals, only to turn around and do the exact opposite. First, it’s anxiety: When are you having children? When do you graduate? When are you moving away? To turn into bitter regret: Why didn’t you accept? Why didn’t you visit? Why didn’t you try? The only constant is the sand filling the glass bulbs. Time passed or the one we eagerly, or contrarily, very dreadfully, anticipate. To my unpleasant surprise, my time appears to be everyone else’s, and theirs mine. What best to do with this incessant thing? To love, it seems. To admire and value the way the skies darken only to shine again. Or the lizard’s dance at your doorstep, a greeting after a long day of work. The way she asked if you were alright. What a pesky friend, that Time. The one I’ve no choice but to keep around. — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Inescapable Daydream “Nevertheless, you are mine.” 2021 Wish It Wouldn't Bleed "Should it hurt more to grieve if the lover was fair?" 12.26.2024 Peaches “Sweeter than the peach / that blooms at the halt of rejuvenating springs,” 2021

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. At The Mercy Of Love Laurence Koe, Idyll,1908-1911 Lying bare next to you makes my mind surge like the fire in my veins. Perhaps it’s the way you study my eyes, or how your gaze flicks over my lips, now chapped, dry, like the inside of my mouth; a symptom that comes as well with sweaty palms or a racing pulse and it’s entirely your fault. After all this time. I grow impatient, even sensitive. Mousy. Timid. Vehemently nervous. Ardently willing. Yet, it’s not so much an anxious, unnerved feeling like that of butterflies. In conttrast, I believe that to be far closer to a warning than the opposing. Rather than that of a love bug. It’s your entire being warning you of concealed trouble. Instead, I feel relief. Safety in your eyes. The only true fear that possesses me is that of having you no longer. Hanging to every bit of hope, even faith, I tread on convincing myself that your hands will want me more tomorrow than they do today. But Lying bare next to you does as much. Overt, vulnerable, plain and clear. Transmitting something I can’t yet fully distinguish; your eyes making all of me a puddle. Perhaps, it is simply love by its purest form. Anyhow, it works my head too quickly for me to understand; too quickly for me to keep up with. All I truly understand is that I want you— for as long as my heart beats; far beyond into His deathless death. — A.M. Sención 2023 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more I Can “…when all the difference lies in ink and paper.” 2024 The Devil's angel "Men who feel love / never lack a good heart, / so I wished my soul bound to his. " 2024 Exchange Between Heathen And Believer "As do I." 11.2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Wish It Wouldn't Bleed Carlton Alfred Smith, Recalling the Past, 1888 But I wish not to bleed anymore. And if it makes me stronger, then what? I don’t want the lesson in strength; the wisdom, or the need to be bigger. I am not big. Only dying, over something that has no place for grief. Not when it stripped me of everything I am, not the way it was. Should it hurt more to grieve if the lover was fair? This was not so. Why, then, are there tears of gold? Why, still, do I wake at midnight to a minor key, a haunting melody, that does little to lull me back to sleep. Time will heal. But it will always feel like shattered glass on his birthday— when he looked at me, and made me believe I knew love. That scar will always be tender. To grieve the hurt that will die; please, I only wish it wouldn’t bleed. — A.M. Sención 12.26.2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Soulmate “I was made of a piece of you, / and you of me.” 2023 Time "I wish not the life of another," 2024 Paraíso "Tu paraíso privado." 01.15.2022

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Nostalgia's Blade René Peyrol, Bathers in the Forest, 1887 Will this constant state of nostalgia ever detach itself from me? Detoxifying and freeing. I fear it will only worsen from here He will remember what it was like to sit in a classroom, learning a subject entirely unconnected to Him, won’t even count. He will remember the late night pulling into the driveway after a rendezvous with our friends. And He’ll remember what it was like to love. I fear he will not leave, only gather the ammunition he needs to make my heart bleed each time I hear that song. — A.M. Sención 10.04.2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Paraíso "Tu paraíso privado." 01.15.2022 Time "I wish not the life of another," 2024 Who She Is "She calls it passion / when it’s merely madness." 10.02.2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Same Nature (Hampstead Heath) The Great Day of His Wrath, John Martin, 1851-1853 In the midst of a burning desire for isolation. Long plains that see nothing but hilltops, an eerie silence; we are still incomplete. Our nature was not nurtured in empty rooms. Cared for in loneliness. There, we do not burgeon. From impatience, a trip which should have lasted longer, a coffee stained mug we can’t get rid of, births this incessant Need. Yet still, in busy hands we return— with an uncertain heart, and more questions than we began with. Listen now to my string. We are not meant to be alone. Not in this time, or the next. — A.M. Sención 02.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B Braveheart (Montague Street) “...siempre demasiado lejos de mí.” 04.07.2025 The Boy on the Bus (31 Westbound) "He knows not / something to compare." 02.2025

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Cadence Charles Haigh Wood, Gossip Is it the cadence? The tone, perhaps. Can you read the tone in pixelated words? Whatever it is, I’ve got to figure this out. How to make people believe inauthenticity escapes me? How to make them believe you actually do care? Because I do. But then, why do I feel like they see me as something artificial? Am I not who I think I am? Useless, useless question, Because, in the end, they still ask how I am. — A.M. Sención 2024 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more A Poem In Disdain “My chaos. /My midnight storm.” 11.2024 How Life Loves "...meant to be soft / in a world that moves me with calloused hands." 2024 Cognizance "So, behind closed doors, my mother’s doll still sits on linen." 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Simply, I Love You John Simmons, Hermia and Lysander. A Midsummer Night's Dream, 1870 I love you infinitely. My first thought of the day, my last thought at night, and nearly every thought in between. What I wouldn’t give to be lost in the hue of those spring-growth eyes, the shade of the blades of grass in the vast pastures we only dream of skipping through, for the rest of my life. I would not want anyone else, Beloved. — A.M. Sención 2023 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Peaches “Sweeter than the peach / that blooms at the halt of rejuvenating springs,” 2021 Where The Sky Ends "In this way, / should the moon be unattainable, then you shall fall upon a star." 12.2024 Cadence “…in the end, they still ask how I am.” 2024

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Braveheart (Montague Street) Norman Rockwell, Marriage License, 1955 Un momento inesperado, e inoportuno tal vez, también. Igual, no dejo de pensar en él. No lo conozco, y a la vez Ha vivido más que esta vida conmigo Nos conocimos por el río En la parada de un tren En el estreno de la sinfonía Española. No le gustó. Y siempre demasiado lejos de mí. Pero en el silencio que dominó esas noches, sorprendentemente delicado, encontramos un sanctuario de algo que no entiendo del todo. Lo que sí entendí fueron las cartas no escritas, las flores, y la forma en que él quedó perfectamente grabado en mi memoria. ¿Será su corazón igual que el mío? Me dijo que si podía amar, Y le creí. Le creo. Y me pregunto por qué me lo habrá corregido tan firmemente. Como si hubiese pensado lo contrario en algún otro momento. Lo presentí al tocar su piel, y no supe cómo descifrarlo. Pero me intriga, Y me atrevo a decir que lo quiero más por eso. No me lo quiere decir, y se lo entiendo. Pero con ternura es en la única forma en que se tratar, y ansiosamente espero que sea suficiente para atar mi corazón al de el. — A.M. Sención 04.07.2025 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more Poems of February 2025 "I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill." -B Same Nature (Hampstead Heath) "We are not meant to be alone." 02.2025 Primrose Hill "Dismay— / and truly being alone." 02.2025

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Peaches Francesco Hayez, Il bacio, 1859 Sweeter than the peach that blooms at the halt of rejuvenating springs and into the advent of golden summers. None can compare to what I have; not the melodies the rufous nightingale may carry or the scintillating bursts of dawn as the sun wakes. To consider it subjective that you are for me, and I for you, is illogical; for this is plainly and distinctly fact, on display for anyone to see for themselves. Fear threatens this with each new day, and naturally the Insecurity who is a fit companion to it; fears of familiarizing within ourselves too much, or contrarily, knowing too little. Letting apprehension make us sick for days that see no end. Doubting abilities that satisfy our souls, each other, our minds. But must we let that be stronger than this? This of which I speak so proudly of. Like the welcoming tree under which we sit, offering shade in July’s unforgiving heat; where no one can find us and the grass is greener everywhere while the open skies sing. Or perhaps it is like those peaches. Our love: the sweetest peach, the mellifluous nightingale, the vast and most blissful plains scattered in wild indigos, lupines, and Queen Anne’s lace. Yes, this Love. Merciless, Chaotic, and so irresistibly Desirous. — A.M. Sención 2021 This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission. Explore more At The Mercy Of Love “The only true fear that possesses me is / that of having you no longer.” 2023 Exchange Between Heathen And Believer "As do I." 11.2024 Anatomy Of A Lover “Surrender / to the anatomy of my lover.” 2021

Welcome to Moon Prose This is where I share my poetry— each piece is a reflection of my love for the human experience and the boundless depths of creativity. At Moon Prose, I offer writing commissions, crafting personalized poems for any occasion; each commissioned piece is tailored to your vision, designed to capture and express your unique story. Moon Prose is a space for dreamers, romantics, and those who find inspiration the littlest things. Get in Touch with Moon Prose Whether you have a question, want to commission a poem, or just want to say hello, I'd love to hear from you. You can reach me via email, Instagram, or mail. First name* Last name Email* Phone **If you'd like to provide your phone number, please select your country code first, then enter your phone number without spaces or dashes. Message* Submit Instagram: @moonprosedreams **Pricing is flexible and varies based on factors such as length, complexity, and your time frame. Once you submit your request, we’ll discuss all the details via email to ensure the final piece meets (and hopefully exceeds) your expectations. Please allow 3–5 business days for a response, and check your spam folder regularly. If you have not heard from me after 3–5 business days, kindly resubmit your request. Email: moonprosedreams@gmail.com P.O. Box: 668996, Miami, Fl, 33166