"lunabrink" poems
There is a place
Where moonbeams can be spun into silk
And shadows are as soft as velvet.
Where even time himself has paused to admire
The star-lanes embroidering the sky.
Where whispering ferns uncoil
To have their edges painted silver.
Where flora flirt, and you respond
With the faintest blush -
A playful petal on your cheek.
Where night-thinkers hum in an intertwining dissonance
Weaving a pleasant acoustic haze
Amidst a rhythm discernible to those
In Lunabrink.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC