Serenity knocks.
She’s the Blue Moon visitor.
The one most folks miss.
She’s rare, that she is.
Rarer than that famed blue moon.
Long-awaited.
Certain. Predicted.
Predictable?
That’s a guess-
An uncertain one at that.
She waits, upon your door.
In those moments
When all’s dark.
No, not quite; more, Blue, like.
She waits, so quiet.
You never know.
And so, never
Invite her in.
You’re so far gone,
You know she
Wouldn’t visit-
So you don’t expect her.
She still knocks-
(Against all odds, whaddya know!)
In the dead of your night.
When your moon is blue.
But, by then, almost always,
You’re shut down-
And the sign is on,
Your door simply announces –
Closed.
She lingers
In the hope
You’ll hear that knock.
Knowing you need her;
Her clear and moonlit coolness.
Waiting,
For you to know-
That, that, about yourself.
And when you do-
Fling open wide, your door:
She’s pooled into the dew,
That lingers on your lashes.
That frame your empty eyes.
08 April, 2017
Day#8 of #NaPoWriMo, 2017, National Poetry Writing Month, 2017
