Mood:
At midnight
under the mystic's moon
vaporous opiates she exhales slowly
into the universal soul.
The magnolia sleeps at night
upon broad shoulders, almost suspect.
At midnight
the open window welcomes the flit
of a firefly, in and out. Fearless.
Do they dream of fragrant trees
solemn and silent?
Melancholy does arise pale sheeted
over the sunrise, new portal, idol stone.
The echoes become the child within
always thrilling, yet alone.
D. Claudia Ash
July 2005
Posted by poetry/muse6165
at 4:43 PM EDT
Updated: Wednesday, 07/20/2005 4:53 PM EDT
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Updated: Wednesday, 07/20/2005 4:53 PM EDT
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