The Tearful Moon by Evelyn Steward


A moment of time can slip away,
Yet we harbour it in melancholy,
Thread by precious thread,
Trying to hold tight to what we had.
Like silver rain from moonlight,
It slides, akin to passing
Through dark waters,
Disappearing into the depths,
The deepness of despair, hidden
Beneath a smile,
A soupcon of joviality
Lost in a lake of tears
Nobody sees.
Yet we swim on through
A curtain of sorrow,
Held in a transparent bubble,
Hoping it will keep us safe
Until we claw our way up
Through the morass.
These are precious bites
Of reality, strained at best,
Barbed at worst.
Each moment tells its own story.
Everyone reacts rationally,
Tells impromptu tales
To lighten the mood,
And yet, the drops still flow.

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. 12-1-19.


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