Just One More
Is there room for one more
In a world of crowded words and broken hearts
Why tell another story of the fiery nighttime light
Am I right
Or am I wrong to write another
Poem about the moon
Many will not remain to hear
Captivated
by his winsome wooing,
he carried me from the warmth that was my night
In the quiet of our home
in the quiet of my heart, I heard him speak in muted tones
Many married, many longer, many sit
hip to hip
shouldered
by the night
And we
belie our age with our posture
Heads of every shade of grey
more akin to two
retiring into
Their final moonlit night
Of life
We
Seek nothing loftier
Than the
Fullness of our moon
++++
And so if I fail
To write this poem, to which the world may not respond
One more word gift, packaged by a poet’s bow
that the world
may not want, nor read nor need
About the moon and me
And you
Then it is I who die a little as I live
Let fizzle out
the gift
That was your whispered words
Let them fall into a world, cold and dark
Burn out like every other love that lost its fire
Flame extinguished by
cruel ignorance
of the simple needs of love
++++++
Just one more
maybe just for me
A poem about the moon and you
And how you spoke
gently
Into our love
on one bliss-filled winter’s night
The poets cannot stay away
From subjects on the moon and love
But neither can the moon
Good company, I am in
When I am held so sweetly
by both the moon
and you
+++++
I may never know
If I was right or I was wrong
But I will know
that I was
Simply, loved by you
In the winter
Of our love
Once more
elizabeth w. marshall 