There’s a misdemeanor in the moon…
Trickery through swift howling wind,
Equivalent to vast illusions,
Of a descending waterfall.
Tainted in ambiguity,
Yet mystified amidst exquisite ambience.
Dredging nomadic feelings,
To roam in an extraordinary zeal,
And converse with smoky mountainous peaks.
Relaying thoughts that engrossed one’s mind,
On the dynamics of this callous world.
Fully aware to continuously dance,
Like that of daring gypsies,
Twirling at lightning speed,
Unbeknownst of an encroaching tomorrow.
Ample time some might say,
To surely interweave and fuse,
Among these phenomenal elements,
Laden in flawed perfection.

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.

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