My Lunar Cycle

By the early years of that ancient decade, the 70's, I'd tired of my obstreperous tomboyish games: kickball with the neighbor kids, sledding in the winter, desecrating the peacefulness of our street's grave yard with our bike races, tag, and hide-n-seek. And I tired too of the pastimes of my season preferred: chasing siblings with a hose, giggling and gleeful, swimming at Weed Park, and my perpetual swinging through those long, sweet sunshiny days longed for during classes in my school. Old friends grew up. Boredom anon crept upon the remnant of my childhood. At times - through infancy and beyond - I'd been beset by a feeling of loss over something not yet sought. It was something kin to loneliness, but no. . .not that. More a sense of gloom - a sorrowing for what? I still don't really know. Despite the days of inexplicable forlornness, I grew more and more cavalier throughout the days that came between those odd forlorn days because my old timidity, in fact, had waned. . . Another face, fairer, appeared. It waxed and glowed - assured - until those “days - in- between” had finally surpassed the melancholy ones. I learned to stifle monotony and squelch the blues. I became a "doer" of too many things to name as I went gliding through with the Gibbous moon. Soon enough, a fullness had arrived. And now it must disseminate. In the years to come, I'll be wondering this. . . Will the shining face I show the world wane too, and will my youth's strange darkness re-emerge, eclipsing what light remains as I drift, having come full-cycle, into my final crescent phase? 5/21/14 Submitted 3/30/16 to PD's Any Poem # 38 Poetry Contest