Shadow world of night
Flying on chariots of soul
She searches for the solace
Of tangled thoughts.
High through night
Amongst stars and hidden spaces
The crevice of the mind alive
Just suspicious of the laughing moon
Who shines the light
Who exposes her flight
To the fancy whim of fickle Mars.
So far away a poet sits pondering
And reads books by those who have been
Long gone, but touched by words that still ring out
Like a solitary church bell beckoning
Come and worship.
Through worlds of music and fine pieces of art
She gives her heart on paper
Another poet whispering words
Touching someone today or maybe
A hundred years from now a child will read
Lost in wonder of the soul that could produce
The image that lies at that very moment
In that childs mind,
How could they know,
How could they have seen the secrets
Of their soul.
“I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people’s eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar