Mattias Turovski

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Walking On The Moon

Everyone has left by now, alone so I could be.
Paper, pencil and my thoughts, accompanying me.
Way past bedtime, rest and dreams, no-one in the room.
It’s just me, my thoughts and I, walking on the moon.

All I’ve seen today I shall [-] put on paper now.
Words appearing on the canvas I do not know how.
Sweeping all my thoughts aside, as if with a broom.
Where, what, how I ask, and why.. walking on the moon.

The kettle singing in the kitchen, restless as it blows.
A moment lost in time as falls a petal of a rose.
My thoughts go back to when it grew and just how it would bloom.
There’s oh so much to do when one is walking on the moon.

A synapse fires through my brain, reminding me of her.
And all the things that were, remain and that would still occur.
I shake it off and look around, surrounded by the gloom.
Of what hence follows every time I set off to the moon.

There’s endless possibilities when wondering alone.
Reaching out to something bordering the twilight zone.
I look up at the Earth above, calling “come back soon.”
I answer “In a minute love, not done yet on the moon.”

All inspired finally I rest my pencil down.
I sigh, relive the trip, then brace for impact, hit the ground!
I promise myself not to go again until it’s June,
but know I can’t resist the charm of walking on the moon.

And so my nights, my days and evenings quietly go by
I’m tired of this Earth so to the moon I’ll rather fly

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