|Photo by Dave Candler - used by permission|
Shadows Along A Moonlit Path
I don't remember when first I noticed,
That shadows follow me in moonlight, pale and spectral,
Shimmering silver puddles and among them a ghostly image
Swirling along behind me in the darkling wood.
I find myself shouting at the moon sometimes,
But the words fall flat and leave no echo behind,
Absorbed and dulled by trees along the path,
Drawn up into the satin, sable sky and into silence.
The moon does not often listen when you cry.
It pats you on the shoulder, "There, there child."
The way an aunt would comfort, not revealing,
But obscuring, hiding that which gives you pain.
They're beautiful the shadows all along the moonlit paths,
Useful when you only want to see in muted colors.
Reflections of the sun tamped down and muffled;
When open weeping cannot be permitted.
I waited till the sun came up to pray aloud,
I needed dawn to feel if God were listening.
To complete the long unreality of the night,
And the poor comforts of the misguided moon.
© 2014 by Tom King