Midnight Confession Poem by Deb Fowler

The wind danced all night
through tall knitted pines
a full moon cloaked in grey
crept from east to west

my words were new then
fresh after a night of rest
they squirmed in my head
like the waiting spring when
February has been too long

I stare into that moon
as it rests there in the west
like a child who longs for Christmas

not knowing what each night
will bring sometimes full of
promises, sometimes just a
shimmer of gold or a silver sliver

I whisper promises, prayers
of want, words that surrender
my underlying hope like a
midnight confession.