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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required There was change, an odd pulse A new cadence, and tone, in the place I called home where my mother had been Where white fences stretched out to cradle a dream but where streams, unfamiliar, were on the horizon On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake Windows cracked open, a wind coming in, .... Intangible nights, in the familiar old room, alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things... There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on, and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass, was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense And a place to fit in My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride in the same maple bed, where my mother had died And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained. I was there at his side, when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too but was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings Eventually, I would grow with a fresh point of view, but the child that I was, still waits for the moon I'm older and wiser, maybe stronger than then but, the moth will look in, escaping the moon ramming the screen seeking the flame... batting its wings, while resisting the change, ...again, and again 11/3/14
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