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This is a poem I wrote as a dedication to the moon. I love the moon and each of her phases, especially the full moon. You can often find me outside sitting in her light recharging myself for the month.
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O silver mirror of the sky,
soft witness to each breath and cry,
I dedicate these waking hours,
this heart of flesh, these dreams of flowers.
You, who rise in shifting grace,
changing shape yet holding place,
keeper of secrets, queen of tide,
your glow the thread where myths abide.
You watch us dance, you watch us weep,
you cradle wolves and stir the deep.
You paint the night in pearl and frost,
a compass for the wanderer lost.
To you I offer silent song,
for all the places I belong.
For every wound I’ve ever worn,
and all the selves I’ve yet to form.
Your light is gentle, never loud
a voice that speaks without a sound.
You teach the power found in rest,
in pulling back to offer best.
Guide me through the dark unknown,
with phases echoing my own.
Let my becoming match your flow,
in waxing strength, in waning woe.
I honour you, O midnight flame,
soft mother, mirror, ever same.
In stillness, love, and mystery true
my soul is moonlight born anew.
This is a poem I wrote as a dedication to the moon. I love the moon and each of her phases, especially the full moon. You can often find me outside sitting in her light recharging myself for the month.
Just click Add to Cart and once you have purchased the item you will receive a link which will direct you to the site you can edit the text and background.
O silver mirror of the sky,
soft witness to each breath and cry,
I dedicate these waking hours,
this heart of flesh, these dreams of flowers.
You, who rise in shifting grace,
changing shape yet holding place,
keeper of secrets, queen of tide,
your glow the thread where myths abide.
You watch us dance, you watch us weep,
you cradle wolves and stir the deep.
You paint the night in pearl and frost,
a compass for the wanderer lost.
To you I offer silent song,
for all the places I belong.
For every wound I’ve ever worn,
and all the selves I’ve yet to form.
Your light is gentle, never loud
a voice that speaks without a sound.
You teach the power found in rest,
in pulling back to offer best.
Guide me through the dark unknown,
with phases echoing my own.
Let my becoming match your flow,
in waxing strength, in waning woe.
I honour you, O midnight flame,
soft mother, mirror, ever same.
In stillness, love, and mystery true
my soul is moonlight born anew.