Why does the morning sun scatter
light across the kitchen table like
a golden painter splashing vibrant
colors on an old and faded canvas?
What is the secret life of shadows
that slip beneath the bedroom door,
whispering mysteries of the night
to the moon hanging low and silent?
How does the coffee cup hold the
warmth of conversation, cradling
stories that swirl like steam rising
from the surface of forgotten dreams?
When will the garden finally reveal
its quiet truths hidden in petals,
the delicate language of blooms that
unfold like ancient, whispered secrets?
Why do the leaves flutter their green
wings, a dance choreographed by
an unseen hand, guiding them toward
the inevitable embrace of autumn?
What lies beneath the surface of
the river's gentle murmur, a song
composed of centuries, carrying
echoes of voices long forgotten?
How does the night sky manage to
contain so many stars, a vast and
silent map of wonder that stretches
beyond the reach of our small lives?
When will I find the answers to
these questions that linger, like
ghosts in the corners of my mind,
whispering their eternal enigmas?
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Comments1
Beautifully penned images that float off the page. Nicely done
Thanks Soren, I appreciate your word of encouragement. I was concerned about the flow of ideas in this poem, so thank you validated that. God Bless
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