everything is still
save the harvest moon rising
as temperatures fall
and the cello’s melodic music
filling the night
all summer long you gathered
collecting bits and pieces
of who you used to be
from fallen stars polished
by rain and tears
but now the winds have changed
and you are alone
with spectral visions
of your own memories
like silhouettes dancing
upon your mind’s eye
what does it mean
to waken in the forest
where the leafless elms
stand in silent vigil
to the mysteries
of the night
what does it imply
when you are
the only one left swaying
on the dance floor
the only one
that still hears the music
the only one
who remembers
the dance
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is stunning, Marianne ~ my moods change throughout each day, let alone each season, though the four inspire and shape me in myriad ways as they turn their pages and pass by. Autumn, for me, is a time of memories, of looking back upon the miles of a year before the final road is paved of winter, as memories fall like leaves of thought to settle in the heart.
collecting bits and pieces
of who you used to be
from fallen stars polished
by rain and tears
I loved these lines ~ though in summer I am at my most enlivened, the wildchild comes out, and every day is a new road of possibilities, paved in sunlight (albeit when it's not raining
). Winter is my time for the introvert to waken, as I contemplate the year gone by, and make my plans - personal and professional - for the year to come. So many beautiful expressions throughout this piece, though, it is hard to elect "favourites".
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I agree with the comment below,
As I read I pause after each line
who you use to be
made me pause
when you find yourself somewhere else
you just want to share the music, but what music?
the only one
who remembers
the dance.
Thank you for such a pleasure
God bless you Poetess...
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Haunting
Hauntingly beautiful, Marianne. And who has not contemplated
this, whose soul sings with the nightingale? This is poetry that speaks to the reader in such wise that the reader has little option but to pause and to ponder: the Poet's Pen lit upon the page though the work might bear our name...
Richard
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LOVELY!!!!
I am usually the one left still feeling as others around me have moved on to something new. Most of the time though when this happens to me I am alone.
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