The Moon and the Child

A bowl of liquid silver against a background of pitch black

Emitting a soft, pale glow onto the world encased in night below

“I want to be like the moon,” a small child says as he looks outside

“I want to illuminate the lives of those who see darkness.”

So he makes a wish upon the glowing sphere of hope in the sky

And falls asleep into his wonderland of bright dreams.

 

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Listen to the Wind

Close your eyes and open your ears

Listen to the whisper passing by in the air.

Can you hear the soft rolling of unshed tears

By those living in grim darkness they cannot bear

Or the twinkling laughter of children like bells

Pealing forth and filled with youthful joy and hope

Or the prayer to the stars the earnest dreamer tells

Despite the dream being on top of a steep slope.

 

Because the wind carries all these different sounds

And channels them into our hearts in bounds.

 

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Spark of Fire

At the end of the exhausting wait that seemed limitless

A sudden spark appears in the middle of nothingness

Fleeting and miniscule, but its potential spells wonders undefined

It catches fire and brightens the darkness inside the mind

Whispers about a miracle that rises from the wait that was forlorn

As the blaze rages on, a new creation is born.

 

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The Wind of the Night

A silent whisper, soft and gentle, pervading the darkness

Forming a ripple in the grass touched by silver under the moon.

Falling petals dancing in the air to the music of the night,

The shimmering of opaque on the surface of the pond,

And a faint stirring in the coat of the mute trees.

Silence blankets the world below.

Nothing prompts the senses save the one of touch.

 

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