Goodnight, My Poem

what will they grow up to be,
these poems, still searching for words,
still struggling with truths,
still stumbling over empty lines,
this one that you read
and the dozens that hide in the dark, unread, unsaid,
what will they grow up to be,
I tuck them in each night,
and tell them stories,
of others with wings,
with hearts, birthed by strangers faraway,
I kiss them goodnight,
one day the words will do to you,
what love does to the eyes,
what the sun does to the rain drenched sky,
one day you will find yourself,
on the precipice of being,
in the moment between joy and ache,
one day you will find
that the words have done to you,
what the quiet night does to music.

Advertisements

38 thoughts on “Goodnight, My Poem

    1. Thank you Sherry. The poem came from being vexed by some impossible spoken poetry that had managed to go viral, offering a glimpse of the future of poets perhaps.

      Like

  1. Chills! “What the quiet night does to music.” All the elements conspire toward wholeness, don’t they? And so your poems speak to the under-developed me, and I await their becoming.

    Like

  2. One strong and thoughtful poem.

    Loved the lines-
    “one day you will find yourself,
    on the precipice of being,
    in the moment between joy and ache”

    What a rendition. I am glad I participated this week and got to read such beautiful compositions.

    Have a good day! πŸ™‚

    Like

Comments are closed.