I think it’s the sudden breaths
Of curtains shut to a twilight parade,
Accompanied by a sweet gasp of air,
Disturbed by a fearful starlight raid.
I think it’s the curious sound of nothing,
But a city heartbeat alive and far,
In stark contrast with a night so dead,
Yet somehow as enticing as a star.
It is dead nights and dog barks,
And the malicious chuckle of birds unknown,
Or the stillness of silhouettes so vivid
In a sky, embossed and sewn.
Most especially, it is rain dancing upon rooves,
The unexpected feet, so much in tune
To that very music caught on the wind
That blew the curtain like a waning moon.
Or is it the knowledge of slumber surrounding
As you sit and simply see,
And write about some boy you saw,
Caught in blind, painless reverie?
It is the unrecognisable, the usual,
The obvious, in plain sight:
Reasons why we may feel so infinite
Writing in the red embrace of night.
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A Cosmic Collection - Poetry
PoetryI love to write poetry about the moon, and the stars, and the sky or the night time. This is a collection of poetry, all of which satisfy the common theme of cosmic references.
