The moonlight sang that song
we can’t remember, invisible wings
cascading through the valiant wind
as the stairs insist
on climbing up.
Up.
Up where time remains an afterthought,
or hangs on the moonlight
nearly in the future. Time always comes,
playing metronome while weightless,
feigning lightness
to ease the ascent.
© 2020 Phillip Knight Scott
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Published by Phillip Knight Scott
My name is Phillip. I live in North Carolina with my wife of 11 years and 3-year-old son, and at least for the next year, I’m on the right side of 40. I am a Tar Heel born and bred, and watch every Yankees game I can. My first collection of poetry, Paint the Living, Plant the Dead, is available now! https://amzn.to/2uNule7
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Very beautiful
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