Paper Moon
There’s a paper moon
hanging
in the last
of leaves
and crowds,
the falling whispers
of November trees,
the moonlight,
blurred,
soft and remembered
the passing days
of time,
and memories.
For of yesteryears
unspoken,
above the shadowed rooftops,
the standing satellite dishes,
the question marks
and telegraph lines,
the paper moon,
watches above,
listens,
passing stars
across the heavens,
hidden answers
in constellations,
and encrypted
season signs.
Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!
p1964km@googlemail.com
