Silver moonlight dapples the furtive wood elves —
All indistinct, glimpsed, perhaps only imagined,
Just as vague recollections flash by in the mind,
While it searches in vain for anything tangible.
In the moonlight that is recollecting,
The mind touches a weathered door that creeks open,
Revealing dimly the dusty furnishings of a bygone age.
Mere sight or sound or smell stirs vague memories,
Hinting at experiences hiding in the past.
But one wanders in the moon’s faint light,
As in the past, without clear sight,
So leave the moonlight to the owls and the ravens, you say,
And the past to itself, alone and forgotten,
For this bright new day.
I am a voracious reader and also enjoy writing. I often have a very different point of view than the popular one. I do see value in debate, and thought it might add to the public debate on controversial issues if I were to express my contrarian opinions. I also started keeping my poems recently (I've written little pieces my whole adult life but never kept any); and I've been a photographer now for over 25 years. So I will be adding an occasional poem and hopefully interesting photograph to the blog along the way, just to spice things up.
View all posts by Henry Barnard