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    Thorn Wilde
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Thorny Poetry - 22. Summer Night

A little something I wrote a long time ago, on a summer night not too far south of the Arctic Circle, in a place where the sun only just sets and it never gets truly dark.

the wind is blowing through the trees

and the sky is bright red in the north, north-east

the summer moon is just half full

but it’s shining more brightly than ever

 

the birds have all gone to sleep long ago

and the night is so bright and i love this so

the still and calm just before the dawn

as the summer seems to last forever

 

but i know that it isn’t forever

 

and that’s all right with me

because you, my love, are not here right now

but i will see you soon

and until i do i will think of you

watch the night pass into day

if i don’t fall asleep first

 

somewhere i think i heard a frog leap

only creature awake, everyone’s asleep

the doors are closed, not a lamp is lit

and the silence seems to last forever

 

but i know that it isn’t forever

Copyright © 2014 - 2020 Thorn Wilde; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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12 minutes ago, Parker Owens said:

This is beautiful on several levels. You describe a marvelous summer night, and you are alive to everything in it. At the same time, your observation but i know it isn’t forever can let the reader pivot to metaphor. The night is the absence of the beloved, perhaps - and what then is the silence? You’ll have me thinking for a while... 

Thank you, Parker. It’s got me thinking too, really. I think there’s more to this poem than I thought there was when I wrote it years ago... Isn’t that strange?

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