It is a thirsty, yellow hot morning.
My thoughts are squandered, flat under the heat
Struggling to grow ideas, I look up and
I see the moon -
A hovering hologram from the black hours.
I am relieved for the reminder
Of the night world -
The dreams about beckoning green seas
And hastening purple skies,
All the magic that comes to me in the mysterious dark.
If the Sun allows a ghost Moon,
Midnight inspiration must also be somewhere,
Lingering in the arid day.
My thoughts are squandered, flat under the heat
Struggling to grow ideas, I look up and
I see the moon -
A hovering hologram from the black hours.
I am relieved for the reminder
Of the night world -
The dreams about beckoning green seas
And hastening purple skies,
All the magic that comes to me in the mysterious dark.
If the Sun allows a ghost Moon,
Midnight inspiration must also be somewhere,
Lingering in the arid day.
LJ Ireton
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