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Ronald Peat

2. Thief Of Light

Twig entangled, the rounded light of the night
is a silent thief; could it be that the lunar disk
steals the luminous heart away: romances
the heartbeats from every dreamer that
sleeps curled-up inside the quilted darkness.

Oh, farewell sunlight; greeting moonlight
calls out to lovers embraced in braided sleep.
Is this a wistful feeling that holds, forbids
a passion in the candled darkness,
or is it a dream made real by a lover's touch?

Moonstruck—all we hear is the breathy-sigh
within the clear voice that is the moon aglow.

poem by Ronald Peat (17 December 2010)Report problemRelated quotes
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Thief Of Light

Thief Of Light

Twig entangled, the rounded light of the night
is a silent thief; could it be that the lunar disk
steals the luminous heart away: romances
the heartbeats from every dreamer that
sleeps curled-up inside the quilted darkness.

Oh, farewell sunlight; greeting moonlight
calls out to lovers embraced in braided sleep.
Is this a wistful feeling that holds, forbids
a passion in the candled darkness,
or is it a dream made real by a lover's touch?

Moonstruck—all we hear is the breathy-sigh
within the clear voice that is the moon aglow.

© RH Peat 12/17/2010 2: 39pm
form 2 cinquains and 1 couplet// 12 lines.

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This is Grand

This Is Grand

Like air — I’m here my dear
uplifting the pinions on your wings;
I raise your form to touch
the clearer sky where Robin sings.

Hold sweet, your pulsing heart
and know the weather will always
bring dew and change before
your eyes as moments ride the days.

Where woman and a man
desire to meet beneath the moon
to build a castle grand—
their wanton lives will end to soon.

I hurry now for you
on whispered winds through open field
to find bouquets of flame

[...] Read more

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Across The Flow

Across The Flow

Crosscut boards make a firm structure.

Moving against the flow is a reality found
inside lessons for the lost potential in hope.
That damage is a lack of willingness
to seek the next breath inside the unknown.

All can't be expected to be sugarcane stalks.

A dreamy fallacy for a leaning post
has no foundation nor persistence,
for daily the storm creates our laughter
wriggling inside the turgid stem's gradual

uplift, as the rain is our tears in lament.

Where would the bulb in the earth be
without the pouring rain to awaken its

[...] Read more

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