Was there ever me?

The night,

bitter cold,

my breath, like brush strokes,

painting the moon lit sky.

Is it the cold or the solitude that cuts so deep?

Hands thrust into coat pockets,

collar pulled up against the wind,

a wind that covers the sounds of a man

weeping.

Tear filled eyes capturing

blurred images of a distant tree line,

hoping to see, someone…someone that knew

the me

a man of gentle madness and rage,

all those things

that make a person who they are

…a man both tempered and tarnished

through he years.

with heavy sigh,

the images clear,

the trees, the moon

and the solitary man…painting the sky.

Advertisements

Published by

MW Moore

I am surrounded by books with great, even heroic quotes, grand philosophies and theologies, mysteries and wonderments. I've never met an author of any. Oh what a finer person I would be if I had raised my voice above the pounding of the sea with Cicero, walked with Saul on that road to Damascus and on and on and on. Well, I didn't. But I've met some pretty swell people that had something to say...and they're all related to me; they're My Family Jewels.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s