Her light is made of silver and softness,
the blue as much a part of her as the red.
Her beauty a secret made of night,
touching sleeping fingers with her gentle fingers.
I turn my face to her light.
Moon, shine on me as I drift.
Hold me in your loving arms
and carry me to my dreams.
I was pretty much down for the count at the beginning of last week as the post before this gives witness. Then some awesome people came along, some of them complete strangers, some dear friends. They put hooks and knobs into the walls of the deep, dark hole my psyche had tripped into accidentally by offering warm words and hugs. The morning after the post I woke up and found a poem left at my virtual doorstep. KW apologized for it, because he usually only writes fiction. For me however it was one of the best things that could happen.
As another friend put it: “Loneliness is such a danger. It’s strange right, because we are introverts and retreat from the world to some extent. And yet, we are our own worst enemy because when we are alone the sounds in our heads are so much harder to block out.”
I retreat because it is easier for me that way. But then I feel lonely. I keep this emptiness inside me in check with the art, I work on and use to express myself and ideas that are important to me. Then loneliness suffocates my creativity and suddenly there is – nothing.
The poem – it sparked something immediately and a new painting was born. Hence, it was beautiful.