The Painting of Moon

In the shadow of the vintage pendulum clock, still ticking on the worn out wall of my memory, hangs a picture not yet pale, my grandfather painted in frail hands, of the moonlit mystique silver sky, spreading on the waves of the azure sea, scintillating. My muse saunters there dipping the frayed quill in its royal blue tranquil depth, and in the backdrop of the indigo night, weaves the tapestry of gleaming exaltation with the strands of luminous imagery, illumined by the beacon of the lamp, glowing like the setting sun in the twilight hour, waning. As the rhythm of the painted waves vibrates with the cadence of my cascading poem, I see the painting of the moon over the sea descend on the canvas of my mind, mesmerised. July 2, 2020