A Thimble Full of the Moon – A poem

A Thimble Full of the Moon ~Dunes


Sun scorched skin feels flayed,

raw and on fire,

lips cracked,

tongue swollen,

body drained…weak as a ragdoll.

I crawl through ever shifting sands

with far off lands

shimmering in the distance

that never seem to draw close.


I endure the silence

of the ever beating

sun upon my back.

Cold solace comes in the form of

night stars which

are more a stranger than

their close abusive cousin.

Yet my companion moon

comes to dance for me.

She flies with her curved form

arcing across the sky.

Every now and then she helps me along

my way.

As I spy her reflected in a thimble sized  pool

of water

in the shadows of the dusty

dunes at night.

I drink.

And that is enough

to continue onward.



Philip Wardlow 2015











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