Sweet moon whispering
In quiet spaces
Places where solitude is embraced
As the heart of a dreamer moves
Seeking the life
The energy of solace.
Sitting in white rooms of yesterday,
Jars long empty filled with dried bits
Of a season long gone,
Sitting in lucid thought
Remembering dreams that fell like worn petals
To the floor.
She spoke to the sky,
Whispered hopes and fears
And watched, waiting for answers to come forth
And she slipped from hiding
The wolf moon gazing back
As the poet turned knowing
The answer had already been gleaned
From midnights darkest stories,
From heart songs that sang
As she drifted away.
I have not seen the moon in I do not know how long, yet in the darkness early this morning, she gifted me with her beauty, moving me from grey depths into the surface of another morning of life. The image called me to write about a quiet space where poets dream and create.