Chaste Moon ~ Part 3: Consistency under all the phases

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Parables.
Isn’t that what the moon teaches us?
Forever tainted by deaths
and entrances,
its pout is invisible to the naked eyeβ€”
you strike to me as the dreamy type
and for reasons unknown
I am led deeper into your web.
A shadow of a dream, I think back to days of innocence
wandering the streets unaccompaniedβ€”
I walked in Spring,
dripping willows, old oaks and poplars;
one needs to go slowly,
know that soft tendril of whispered nothings means only
to tease usβ€”
I am no longer fragile,
my pen dipped low in salted conversations;
the moon is aware of ballads resting upon our lips
the only question is,
can we tell the truth apart from lies?
The essence of my hot pink lipstick stain never betrays.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

A Skylover Wordlist: Salt, conversation, parables,
ballad, death
and entrances πŸ’

Posted for the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

34 Replies to “Chaste Moon ~ Part 3: Consistency under all the phases”

  1. I like the thread of pout, lips and lipstick woven through your poem, Sanaa, and the parables and lies, of being led deeper into a web. It’s heartening to see the speaker growing stronger, β€˜no longer fragile’, with her β€˜pen dipped low in salted conversations’, and the defiance of the β€˜hot pink lipstick stain [that] never betrays’.

  2. If we can go through all the phases of the moon, perhaps we will become a little better at telling truth from lies. But most importantly, we will have learned that we have the capability to roll with the changes and adapt.

  3. “I walked in Spring,
    dripping willows, old oaks and poplars”

    I could dine on these two lines for days. I love the combination bright surreality of it. I can practically see the drizzle of willows and oaks and poplars sliding down the speaker’s skin, and finding root.

  4. “one needs to go slowly,
    know that soft tendril of whispered nothings means only
    to tease usβ€””

    These lines shines like the full moon herself. Beautiful poem. πŸ’œ

  5. Poets probably can never tell the truth from lies as their minds are bent imagining or enhancing reality. So an old man can write romantic poetry as well as the young…and be more accurate! However yours is always a delight to read Sanaa.

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