Island Nights


Full moon sliding fast over the water,
enough to read by,
be burned by,
rolling bright and cool
to the west, painting
a wrinkled, twinkled path
on restless waves of
aching blue turned dark,
reflecting clouds and stars.

Magical island nights, but doomed.
As the moon waned
a little more each night,
so did the magic.
Precious, but fragile.

They couldn’t hang on.
Little gaps became larger,
flaws bloomed beyond
reason under the
wash and boom of surf,
the relentless sound of reggae
on the beach.

Too hot for clothes in the moonlight,
too hungry for each other
to need them at first…
sweet, natural, beautiful… but
too scary to face.

The loss of control…
an illusion too terrifying.

No vulnerability without trust,
no trust without truth
no truth without losing control…

Too many years to undo,
too many fears to unlearn,
too soon, too soon….

The wolf that grows is the
one we feed,
and the
moon goes dark,
beyond the waves.

hemmingplay.com

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