The clouds above you form as the moon rises,
you try to give them a sense of purpose,
you know that the messenger with the bad news
won’t come, tomorrow, there is no bad news
after this stillness in the world, anymore,
but emptiness, the wind, as your memory,
will vanish as the storm arrives,
the world around you— inside you,
cannot return, children can smell the wind
more than pets, as you know they prowl
the streets, and the smell of the wind
will color them lilac, and the wolf
will freeze for a second by the smell of blood,
though for now only the moon rises,
and each tree, remains as the heart of a wind,
each wind a string on time’s lyre,
divine love reflected upon its own reflection,
wickedness kindling that flame of darkness,
but when the hero strikes her anvil of freedom,
the vision returns, here the mist is a single thought
floating within islands of silence.
David Dephy (he/him) (pronounced as “DAY-vid DE-fee”), is an American award-winning poet and novelist. The founder of Poetry Orchestra. Poet-in-Residence for Brownstone Poets 2024. His poem, “A Sense of Purpose,” is going to the moon in 2024 by The Lunar Codex, NASA, Space X, and Brick Street Poetry. He is named as Literature Luminary by Bowery Poetry, Stellar Poet by Voices of Poetry, Incomparable Poet by Statorec, Brilliant Grace by Headline Poetry & Press and Extremely Unique Poetic Voice by Cultural Daily. He lives and works in New York City.