Mailing Letters to the Moon

Before you can feel the soft touch of poetry
and it can play a song for you,
look for the positive aspect in moonlit shadows.
Stop and wonder
how a heart breaks then makes friends
who give of themselves
until they bleed out on the cold floors
of the world.

Do you find that time lays heavy on you
within dreams
where snow melts in pictures
of piercing eyes
that mail letters to the moon.
Or are you afraid to look out the window
and stop pretending
you are falling in love with being all alone
with just your heart and a slingshot?

What litters the path where your feet move
calling out to the sky
that there is no magic wish
staring at you
waiting for you to finish.
Does your breath catch in conversations
held with snowflakes
that spin and bow then fade away
leaving you to wonder
where you go
from here.

Has it come to the point
where you walk in the places
where white lies run through the stream of life?
Does innocence struggle with colors
that make our eyes believe nothing is true
when something new becomes old
inside of winds that creep
and freeze like icicles.

Before you can feel the soft touch of poetry
and it can play a song for you,
you must have walked this path
I have described.
Do not stand up and leave with your
thoughts racing,
climbing higher and higher,
lest you become one of those hearts
that bleed.

Reviews

[Inyourshadow]

Straight to my heart and to my favourites, this shadow may not be moonlit but he is brightened by your tender words to our beloved poetry and to how it gives us the freedom otherwise only found in dreams. You really captured the romance and the beauty words can give, never stop. Keep em' coming

[Kenneth The Poet]

This rules so much. I see a landscape on par with the Dutch painters of the 1500's, like Vermeer. Just a brilliant write all around.

[Hayley]

Wow. Your last stanza is breath-taking. Before you can feel the soft touch of poetry and it can play a song for you, you must have walked this path...lest you become one of those hearts that bleed.
Some of the most legendary writers have written their best works under immense emotional stress and they have "walked the path you have described".
This is very to the point, and yes as Inyourshadow says, straight to my heart.
Fantastic. Just fantastic!

[Larry Dyson]

one could write and dedicate a story to this phrase.."Or are you afraid to look out the window
and stop pretending
you are falling in love with being all alone
with just your heart and a slingshot?

What litters the path where your feet move
calling out to the sky
that there is no magic wish
staring at you
waiting for you to finish.
Does your breath catch in conversations
held with snowflakes
that spin and bow then fade away
leaving you to wonder
where you go
from here."

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Poetry is subjective so how we see it can depend on our mood, just as we see everything in life. A very engaging piece of writing.

[Betweenthekeys]

Exquisite poem!! .. your use of colorful language is wonderfully imaginative and absolutely perfect..and I like the way you reintroduce the point in the final verse..this is a new favorite for sure!

[Me]

nicely written

[Ruth]

Oh yes! This is amazing! Thoughts do run wild....Neva, you make others feel that its alright to wander and feel alone...looking at myriad ways to "post" hope out there...brilliant piece love! xoxo

[Coyote Poetry]

Few of the great writers didn't know pain and misery. Hemingway survived many war to be able to create. Kosinski learn learn death before life roaming WW2 as a Jew boy. Pain and misery teaches us to know suffering and pleasure. The great writers know lost and allow us to feel their pain and victories in story. I like the poem. So many powerful statements.
"Or are you afraid to look out the window
and stop pretending
you are falling in love with being all alone
with just your heart and a slingshot?"
A strong ending to a excellent poem.
Coyote

[Black Swan Poetry]

where snow melts in pictures
of piercing eyes ...Love this part

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I always find the blues in moonlit shadows...and perhaps a few shafts of gold... I don't know that the colors are positive...they're just colors. Red can be an apple or a rose as well as blood that spilled from a favorite pet onto the highway...life is both sad and sweet. I can't be prejudiced for one emotion over another and say that laughter is better than tears or joy is greater than sadness. Standing by my mother's grave I did not want to smile or to feel the rush of freedom from a passing breeze...I wanted to grieve...NOT for her...for HER I should have wanted those things. But for myself...I wanted to hurt. I wanted the pain to let me know that I was left behind and alive...to suffer life without her. I felt some honor in being able to grieve that way. I needed that. I think we must come to accept some things rather than run from them to our comfort zones and it may be the duty of the poet at times to hold up a mirror to that fact. So let the poetry warm like the rays of summer...let it cause the flowers to bloom and the birds to sing at dawn. But also let it freeze like the frost upon the window so that only human breath can melt a space to view the world through. Let it settle soft as sable robes the darkness in the forest when the snap of every twig makes us jump and wonder... let it take us to face the unknown and to stand there knowing that courage is not never knowing fear but knowing fear and standing our ground in spite of it.