Quiet in bed, I overheard
the moon’s low voice
telling the shadows:
Stay clear of her. She is mine.
Do not drift close to her body,
do not slide into her mind.
All night, every night
in my childhood and beyond,
she beamed her light.
Shining white, or silvery,
sometimes gold, she filled
my uncurtained window.
*********
Quiet in bed, I overheard
the moon tell
100 thousand million stars:
This one is poetry. Her
we guard through the night,
saturate with our light.
Later, when troubles came
and griefs could not be denied,
the moon and stars endured.
Their light ignites my torch,
called poetry – which illuminates
and transforms all shadows.
Full moon photo: © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2018
Note: It is estimated that there are about 100 thousand million stars in our galaxy.
Written in response to Friday Writings #10 at Poets and Storytellers United.
