Under a Twilit Moon
The night wore on
under the twilit moon –
purple, half-sunk,
half-risen over the flaming sea.
Thoughts twirl
and ebb and flow
and curl up against jagged stones,
clinging to the only safety
the mind has ever known. A car,
an infant, a teardrop mother:
all waiting silently
for that peace to come.
But lo, here’s innocence,
bright-shining under a starless sky;
purity of youth lost to age. And thus,
there find me, cold and broken,
aged past morning
and into evening. Now here I sit,
under a twilit moon –
purple, half-sunk,
and rising into the gloom.
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