Mad Man Moon

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 17 Jan 2016
  • 1786 reads
7 comments
 
Moonlight morphs... liquid silver – 
Winter flexes icy fingers – a mantilla 
of birch twigs glistens in her hair,
 
then,  my soul listens –  via a stethoscope
of longing,  cold as steel – your voice...still
unwinding from my ears...
 
reminding me there are many kinds of time.
 
Waiting in the queue down that long,
cold corridor leads to nowhere and beyond... 
 
the time twixt one breath and another...the kind 
makes mountains...marathons, and molehills. 
 
Even now, as mad man moon shines down
like there will be no tomorrow
 
snow, whitely mourns  your  inexistence – 
to become, but as a sliver of mist...a memory in 
yesterday’s sky...
Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Love

Comments

Submitted by VeraClark on

A stunning poem. 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Good morning, Vera...and thank you.  Glad you likedsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by rainingalloverthesky on

Gosh, I love this. 'your voice still unwinding from my ears' is a wonderful line! 

 

Small thing.. It feels like it should say 'the kind THAT makes mountains' 

 

lovely, though. Really lovely.

-pklg-

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

My thanks to you, 154, for sharing your thoughts, and as to your suggestion, I shall certainly give it some careful thought.  Hope your Monday is a good onesmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

But oh, to have those memories! A richness not all own.

I was struck by mountains...marathons, and molehills – to thinking things that are molehills to some, can be mountains or marathons to another. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

That's it...exactly, Rhiannonsmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

You invite the reader to share in your thoughts Tina, which I always find so engaging.

Jenny.