…won’t withhold the moon from me

In the depths of the night
in the brief moments
that the world lowers its voice
I hear the things that haunt me
and they carry me away again
away from my pain
away from my racing thoughts
away from the isolation
and the unwelcome presence
of the aching absence of sleep

the quiet songs of the wind
that brush ever so gently
against my naked skin
unknowingly trigger
bolts of lightning
that for seconds
burn deeper than sin
but as I breathe, in and out
one breath after another
eyes closed, heart open
a lyrical melody calls to me

a cicada serenading the night
calling to his beloved
his whispered secrets
although not meant for me
still soothe my aching soul
his undulating chorus
rising and falling
in the echoing corridors
of the depths of darkness
competing decibels
with the orchestra of torture
buried deep, so deep
in the crumbling canyons
of my bones

but eyes still closed
and heart still open, I breathe
one deep breath, after another
and I think of the brevity
of cicada life, and am in awe
of their joyful songs
their precious moments
out of the darkness
spent living out loud
as the symphony of moonlight
sifts through the trees
through the curtains
and through to me
soft and shimmering

yet in her silence
the lady moon still sings
she sings in gold and silver
her touch feather light
in my ever aching heart
my eyes are now open
and I breathe her in
breath after breath
and close my heart
for long seconds
just to feel her healing touch

then unwillingly, I set her free
returning her to the sky
that moment of freedom
that she gifted to me
those seconds of peace
I cherished, so who am I
to keep her contained
when even the clouds
won’t withhold the moon
from me?
© Ann Bagnall