June 29

comments 16

Night comes late now
and when it does

a corner of horizon
still glows like an ember

and so the day lingers,
reluctant to cede,

and the moon waits
to show its only face

again, starting to wax
or starting to wane,

how weary to be
a constant, let alone be

in constant motion,
if I were the moon

I might want to cease,
to disengage, to hide

away until here below
the oceans went quiet

for just one moment,
and if I were the tide,

I would welcome
the silence,

the serene
if brief reprieve

from gravity’s
endless aching–


  1. moosha23 says

    There are no words to convey my love for this poem. I can sense the ache and longing to just stop for a bit in there. 🙂


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