when the moon stares

this old house sits.

it watches the dust fly around.

and i, i am here;

lying in this bed

watching this show inside my head.

all the dreams that besiege

acting like some sort of picture book;

flipping through all the pages of reflection.

and, when the moon stares,

it passes through my thoughts.

the solitude staircase always sits in its darkness.

this old house sits.

it watches the dust fly around.

the sun sets in colourblind photographs –

memories shake like leaves on an autumn tree –

one by one,

they all eventually fall to the ground;

none can find me,

and yet i am right here.

find my truths,

uncover my weaknesses.

find my weaknesses,

uncover my truths.




c.2015  bgw


2 Responses to “when the moon stares”

  1. Your prose has such a complex contradiction of mournful joy; lovely and bittersweet.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The moon does seem to have its powers to see right through us or into our private , night lives.


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