Thursday, December 10, 2009

Macropsia

Through a sliver in the blinds I peek,
observing two spheres:
one, the remnants of fire
readying itself to retire,
exiting with lazy evening purple.

Farewell is offered to the other one,
drifting in its paleness,
shrouded in silken sari.
She assumes her duty,
governing the darkness in solitude.

Howls of gratitude soar one by one
past mighty summits.
Into her presence
come the primitive songs;
no crescent tonight, only crescendo.

Against the blackened backdrop,
showered with crystals,
she slides westward,
growing ever larger
but ever further from my grasp.

When the moon starts to blush,
as it does tonight,
a withering world
is revived again
to cherish the One nearby,
the One that set it in motion.

For Prompt #104 at Read Write Poem

8 comments:

  1. How we all long for thast withering world to be revived again... great words...

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  2. So beautifully written, you wrote of the moon with such love and it felt so personal.

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  3. Hi Jerry,

    Soft and sensual this paean to the moon.

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  4. Great metaphor for the lush and sensual, the moon as "heavenly body." You do a nice job of conveying real feeling, making the connection personal, making the personal universal.

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  5. I enjoyed the "lazy evening purple" which set the scene for the soft, silvery moon, in her "silken sari". Such a beautiful evening dance across the skies. Thanks for sharing your talent for expressive writing, Jerry!

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  6. What if we could write a plaque to be left on the moon. What would we write? Perhaps this emotional sweep of the moon, and kin, would be one!

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