Mother Of The Night

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  • Nature

    Poem Commentary

    Nature of the moon: Mother of the night reflection is her light.

    Mother Of The Night

    In the dark there she speaks, whisper as the wind blow,
    in the sky there she lies, till dawn there she glows.
    The tides troubled, anytime she face the sea shore,
    the high and low we will know to the core.
    Effective she is when in the open as she lies in her space,
    surrounded with her calm atmosphere, for real,
    the swaying gush show changes in her pace, and glowing face;
    The mother of the night, reflection is her light,
    in tune with her perfection and charming delight.
    How troubled, how rough it could be in her atmospheres that she would care,
    dimmed she becomes as time pass by, as obstacles storm near.
    when dark shown it face, for sure, the louder and brighter she cries;
    the reflection of her phase look to the sky,
    as the day breaks', gives the reason why,
    Why she changes her shape and appear bright when she cries,
    she was made for that purpose, hence the reason why.
    The mother of the night, reflection is her light,
    in tune with her perfection and charming delight.
    Accompanied with her backbones for the time she ever exist,
    the backbones are there for extra comfort,
    for the support she get is for is expected of her,
    in her nature, in her peace, longing not to cease,
    in or out of season it cannot be, but change her reflection gradually,
    with her sphere figure, oral shape, becomes 'full' when she is awake.
    The mother of the night, reflection is her light,
    in tune with her perfection and charming delight.
    In the quarter(s) of her time, orange or red she may be,
    as the time at her time, yellow we may see.
    Her fellow backbones speak while she speaks in the night,
    they became a source a means to help when she cries;
    they helped her shine bright, while other shadows sigh, for the best yet to draw nigh,
     but whatever she reflects in the sky, yes, way up high.
    Activities we might fine hard to see, all are collegian of her duty and season timely.
    The galaxy, part of her home where she groomed,
    in all shape and manner, she foreshadow her role to be the moon.
    For she is the mother of the night where reflection is her light,
    in tune with her perfection and charming delight.

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    Tempy commented on Mother Of The Night

    03-15-2010

    this is simply beautiful. ii must confess though i thought of mr squiggle at the exnd

    Buzzyboy

    03/15/2010

    thank you, for every good words there is a good spirit-a motive of strenght to proceed, you have been a good help..Good words imply good deeds.

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    Buzzyboy’s Poems (39)

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