10-22-2018, 08:07 AM
One Star in Sight by Rowens
October is my favorite month,
and so the most difficult month,
washed away on gallons of thought,
my nightmares come to be friends
and my dreams are sweet and breathed
into me on the air of autumn.
The old middle school and dark backroads
and underground towns I seem to find myself in.
These are not symbols but real.
I see evidence in the rock quarry
and the stone tunnels under tiny bridges.
I see them in my family and in my friends.
There is a light between the sun and moon
that is not a reflection but is;
like the self beyond the mirror and accepted
knowledge. The love (that brings her back)
like Greek gods and local folklore
and proven urban legends on streetlit highways.
Bright melancholy of doubt and acceptance.
A certainty beyond faith.
The fields are dark now but
yellow, and I can feel them.
The breeze blows gently in voices
the humming silence in the distance makes frightening,
frightening in the still silence of all present moments
day or night, but especially night
in October, where she, or something, anything,
could be there, listening.
I've read this poem more than a few times and each time i'm amazed at how well some of our poets write. for me this is one of rowens best poems and well deserving of the spotlight.
the poem and thread can be found here
October is my favorite month,
and so the most difficult month,
washed away on gallons of thought,
my nightmares come to be friends
and my dreams are sweet and breathed
into me on the air of autumn.
The old middle school and dark backroads
and underground towns I seem to find myself in.
These are not symbols but real.
I see evidence in the rock quarry
and the stone tunnels under tiny bridges.
I see them in my family and in my friends.
There is a light between the sun and moon
that is not a reflection but is;
like the self beyond the mirror and accepted
knowledge. The love (that brings her back)
like Greek gods and local folklore
and proven urban legends on streetlit highways.
Bright melancholy of doubt and acceptance.
A certainty beyond faith.
The fields are dark now but
yellow, and I can feel them.
The breeze blows gently in voices
the humming silence in the distance makes frightening,
frightening in the still silence of all present moments
day or night, but especially night
in October, where she, or something, anything,
could be there, listening.
I've read this poem more than a few times and each time i'm amazed at how well some of our poets write. for me this is one of rowens best poems and well deserving of the spotlight.
the poem and thread can be found here