Joy
Sometimes moonlight raises
During the dusk of day,
And mysterious wonderment
Emerges slowly,so so slowly,
Inside the core of the soul,
Into the shadows of the eyes
Of the beholder,
Witnessing the beauty
Of the moon's enchanted presence,
That grew in the hearts
Of the youthful watchers,
Outside in the shade,
Who didn't see the darkness,
Of the night,
Until the moon itself
Decided on a time
To sleep.
In the depths,
Of their dreams,
And rose again,
The next instant night,
Over sleepiness,
In the locker of another carrier.
Age 19 January 11,1998
Copyright 1999 Wendy Torres
