Circular Tides


a poem by




The night song of dreams, like falling leaves,
Whispers through windows, under sheltering eaves.
Conjuring thoughts of days long past,
Of time slipped through an hourglass.

Halloween moon, ghostly in the sky,
Sheds pale luminescence on bare trees that sigh.
A wolf howls in the lonesome October,
Carried on the wind, melancholy and sober.

We search for ourselves in the funhouse mirror,
Finding only a grotesque caricature, becoming clearer.
Fleeting shadows, haunt our sleep,
Morpheus beckons to the slumber so deep.

Gossamer spider webs, hang in the air,
Fragile as our lives that we so despair.
The restless feel of tasks not done,
The regret of life lived on the run.

The witching hour draws near,
A reckoning of sorts to allay our fears.
We stand in the shadows of the autumn night,
As migratory birds, awake and take flight.