Soporific Spirit

I settle in again to the night, there's not much else. I wake to the moon's translucent pallor still straining for providence over the slumbering souls below. Humility and sadness in its glow as the arrogance of a new day begins to hark its departure.

The dust I kicked up so long ago swirled around me like anger and feist and wind that's frenzied. Those moments lost their fight and after time, slowly and gently fell like dust particles and lay like a tired blanket at my still feet; all bravado and fire tempered by duty and love and life.

It's hard to keep a fluttering, clamoring winged spirit still. It tries to fly sometimes but mostly it's dormant. The wings clipped and the song muted but never forgotten. A few fragile melodies play and with vulnerable gait can be heard like a whisper through the clamor and chaos. A spirit's symphonies that dance on the ears of those that want to listen.

For now I take solace from the moon. In its spotlight I sense kindly benevolence. Its milky surface a place to rest my weary dreams.