I spoke words beneath the soft shadows of moonlight
picked up my pen and stroked the lazy passage of stars across the sky.
It was in the darkness that I wept, not from fear, but for my heart’s longing
were it enough to grace the pages of a book, I would write them down
were it enough to draw my paintbrush across the canvas, I would paint
but between the juxtaposition of seen and depicted, there falls uncomfortable silence
words crawl lazily across the page, an odd assemblage of thoughts and emotion
barely enough to portray the passion that wells within my chest.
The paintbrush stands uncertainly poised above the canvas, averse to movement
or perhaps, just uncertain where to go or how to get there.
The muse, it taunts my amateur vision, a witness to all that I don’t know
it mocks the lack of hands that hold their skill in confidence
and while the inner workings of breaths in silence still unveil themselves before my eyes
the more I learn about these mysteries, the more I realize that I know nothing.
© Sumyanna 2017