Thursday, 22 May 2014

The Moon

The soft moan lingers
Ringing in the ear as the greatest music of old
Always remaining on the very cusp of hearing
Lingering
Waiting to be heard again
Yet it is gone forever

A soft shimmer in the dark
Reflecting what faint light there is
Reminds of the far distant moon
Yearning to be touched
Fading away each day
Only to be born again
Seek not this light
For it has long passed

The faintest copper smell
As the crowns and ornaments of time immemorial
Savoured and shared
Signs of great wealth, great favour
Tarnished
Years gone by without use
Without sight
Forgotten in caves and barrows
Waiting

A drop falls
Yet hangs in the air
Suspended in a moment of time
See the shape form
Deep red of finest wine
Leaving bottle and passing lips
Nourishment and pleasure
It falls now
Lands
Breaking moment of perfect silence
To be followed by another
And another again
Until endless stream flows

The flow slows
Stops
endless no more
In fading light a glint
As blade falls
Lands with final thud
On carpet soaked and dark
An ending at last
As the moon rises again
Bathing all in soft cold light

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