Voice of a dream

Lost in the atmosphere,
moon slips in and out of cosmic clouds
patterned after my thoughts
on this cold-hearted night.
Luna Moon sits gently waiting
and I know at dawn I will find here there still,
sailing high in the blue sky
like an eye on the mere mortals
that scurry below on grounded roads.
Where would we go if we could fly to touch
her stoic white porcelain face,
to float in her space
paying homage to the beauty found,
would we come crashing to the ground
when all was said and done,
as her fickle self kept moving
round and round,
would she speak to us once more
through the dreams we cherish,
curled in the warm cotton cocoon waiting,
would she spin us in her orbit
like small children again,
merrily we would roll along
beside her mighty form
and so very small we would be
dancing in her shadow
in and out of the light of the cloud
that shrouds her at times,
she always finds us though
waiting….always waiting for more,
another glimpse
and another space between slivers of days
that pass as fast as she
on cold November nights.

Image found on Pixabay