Curtains to Sorrow
PJ Moon
It ruptured through the curtains;
once veiled, now seen.
Though unbelieving, stilted portraits stumble along a stony path in the mind.
What wishes, what cravings go unfulfilled.
It uttered through the curtains;
once mute, now with voice.
Its shadowy yarns and unwelcome reminders both instruct and slam.
What of my wish to be afforded those days again?
How sorry is my heart to have been so thoughtless?
Its skulking droning grips me through the curtains.
Its dim, unadorned speech rattles my caged memories.
What does it offer? What does it insist?
Harrowing scenes of vibrant regrets.
What wishes, what yearnings go unfulfilled.
Poverty of strength, I am bent under its weight
of warnings and signs, a massif of abandoned potentials.
Mere thin veil, the distance between now and sorrow.
But sorrow: who will listen before the parting of the curtain?
About the Author
Paul Moon is husband to Esther. Their children are Samantha, Christopher and Andrew. Paul studied psychology and mental health counseling, and has a PhD in adult education. He is the author of Lost? When people we really like die, a book for children, and Grieve, published by Centering Corporation. Paul tries to serve others through counseling, teaching, co-learning, and becoming an attentive audience to their stories.
