The Moon In My Yard


My yard is bathed in

cold silver light, the moon looks

down at me, I look


back.  Sitting on my

steps I watch ragged clouds ghost

across its cold face.


In daylight, clusters

of wisteria hang in

fragrant fountains of


lavender.  Tonight

in moonlight, they are white shrouds

hanging limp and torn.


No full moon madness

here.  Only melancholy sighs

and empty musings.


What was is vanished.

Whited out by moonlight, colored dreams

Morph into pale wraiths


Of what was and is

no more,  what is and nothing

more.  Truth and cold light


wash my soul and bares

it to the moon.  The moon looks

down and I look back.

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. twohp2few
    Apr 24, 2013 @ 16:58:11



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