How is it that the kinship of words and emotions leads us
to birdsong and moonlight.
If I write
what do you hear?
If you read the words
‘The cold light of the moon shone on her skin’
Is it not the same moon?
I heard you were once a small child in a garden filled with flowers.
Were you there
Or only words in a verse?
The sadness overwhelms me and I long to drift away.
But is that poetry
Or just wishful thinking?
The abstraction of poetry only reveals itself in the emotional response of the reader.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
And the dawn refuses to break
As my heart has broken
And that is not abstract