Posted by: Ron DuBour | September 4, 2014

Harvest Moon…


ann johnson-murphree

A harvest moon slivers over the tops

of the trees, glows upon the white lilacs

shadowing the wall by the sea. The night

birds call as evening falls.

Boughs of spruce grow green in winters

cold, the willow tree weeps as the earth

becomes old. A moonlit night that will never

die, memories in time watched over by God’s

loving eyes.

Mist across a nearby brook lies low under

dimming stars I see fireflies dancing afar.

Rain seeps into the earth as vines cling to

ghostly streetlights; in the shroud of silence,

my soul takes a heavenly flight. Life and death,

time and lack of memory are all lost on youth,

breath taken away, there will only be truth. I

thought this was a dream with spikes of purple

bloom, pain sharp I ascend from this place of

doom.

©.annjohnsonmurphree
http://www.amazon.com/Sachet-Poetry-Adoration-Aspirations-Asylums/dp/1500483354/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409806050&sr=1-1&keywords=ann+johnson-Murphree

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