Published March 5, 2011
It is not the daylight; it is nothing more
than a splash of silver moonlight on the floor,
the glancing of a moonbeam on the door.
I lie in bed and watch this wondrous thing
that glows like dust from a fairy ring,
and lies there waiting, sparkling.
It falls in through the window, through the air,
dazzles my eyes and dances on my hair;
I am close enough to touch it, but do I dare?
Carefully I attempt to catch the flecks in flight,
my fingers bathed in otherworldly white,
while I am in the other world of night.
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140,894 Literary Works • 673,706 Reviews
For some reason when I read this poem I was reminded a little of Shel Silverstein...perhaps because of its magical quality. Very enjoyable read!
Keep on writing!
~Spartacus
Keep on writing!
~Spartacus
Urgh, Warrior Princess, I loathe your ability with words. This is pure poetry (wait...okay, that saying is rendered a little pointless in this case...but I'm tired and you know what I mean!). Really, this is simple but meticulous at the same time. Really well-written, it had a dreamlike quality.
Keep writing,
StoryWeaver
I just had to tell you I loved this poem. It is great. Keep writing!
I love it! Nice choice of words!
-Liz