An original poem.


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in the forest of trees with fewer than

ever dreams it seems to me a sadness

that thrives in moonlight. every other man

had gone and i was alone within this

holy place where god walks on moonlight. when

the pond had become still in the lunar

shadow and the frogs had left for sleep, then

the breeze of ecstasy blew. no sooner

had i noticed his hand but my soul leapt

into the pond to experience that

moon. with full knowledge of why i came he

extended lily-pads to me and sad

watching the true feeling form and soon the

sun came. this is something that i have kept.









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An excerpt from A Chorus of Voices
by Kurt Messick
Dry Bones Press, February 2003