Beaches, surfers, California girls.
by Dean Koontz
Wind scented with fabulous dreams.
Bouganvillea, groves of oranges.
Stars are born, everything gleams.
A weather change. Shadows fall.
New scent upon the wind - decay.
Cocaine, Uzis, drive-by shootings.
Death is a banker. Everyone pays.
Under the winter moon's pale light,
across the cold and starry night,
from snowy mountains soaring high
to ocean shores echoes the cry.
From barren sands to verdent fields,
from city streets to lonely wealds,
cries the tortured human heart,
seeking solace, wisdom, a chart
by which to understand its plight
under the winter moon's pale light.
Dawn is unable to fade the night.
Must we live ever in the blight
under the winter moon's cold light,
lost in loneliness, hate, and fright,
last night, tonight, tomorrow night
under the winter moon's bleak light?