Lost somewhere in an Italian midnight,
A city sleeps.
Were the stars thrown haphazardly above?
They seem upside down, and dizzy.
Am I far off in a forgotten field?
Do the stars speak to me?
I make eye contact with them and
Spin, spin, spin.
All I can hear is breaths – in, out – and bedclothes rustle, twisted by far-off dreamers,
And faint sleigh-bells herald those tiny twinkling stars.
O watchful moon, were you there when the Painter slapped on thick layers of indigo
Did you breathe to the left or right as His brush angled towards your harem of stars?
Look at Him too boldly and you too would be washed in night colors and regret.
Let Him finish His thoughtful work with a pursed lip.
He scrapes unwanted paint away, and does not apologize.
He must prefer a mild-mannered night.
Warn the stars, too, that when the brush comes near, they must spin away, away, away
Arching their backs until they are a far away twinkle.
O woeful moon, guard this fragile world, for it is
Not immune to change, forever at the mercy of the One who holds the brush.
Embrace those restless dreamers in their too-small beds
Unaware of the song that plays above them.
I will be your silent company with wide eyes
Because we’re lost somewhere in an Italian midnight,
And the city sleeps.
~ Poem by Hannah Olson ~
There’s something so special about expressing ourselves AND processing the world around us through words. Do you write poetry? I’d love to read it! Leave a link to your own work below! 🙂