As my heels clip along
the rounded cobbles,
echoing through the
ghostly streets,
the moon watches on,
a silent guardian,
not asking for praise,
but shining forth its own
reflective beauty,
not unblemished,
like a silver screen,
but perfect in a way,
that I cannot describe,
its mottled skin part of its
surreptitious appeal,
it quietly guards us from
the nothingness,
borrowing its light,
but twisting it,
to shower down,
rays of pure white.
A piano tinkers in a house,
or my mind,
a perfect accompaniment,
to our white light parade,
as I tell the moon of a borrowed song.
YOU ARE READING
Dawns mutterings
PoetryCompilation of poems, inspired by natures bounty. We are of the earth, so it is only fitting that it in turn inspires us. Although much of my poetry is in some way inspired by nature this small compilation highlights just how much it impacts all I d...
