Becoming whole again

Becoming Whole Again

The dark moon throws a blanket of gloom,
covering my comprehension.
Motionless, I linger,
lost in direction,
like a sloth hanging upside down from a tree.

Looking at the world in novel ways,
I contemplate.
The new moon reflects the birth of light,
a bright lining that ignites hope,
which, like seeds of expectation,
grows on the fertile ground of the mind.

Ideas sprout from the shadows,
worming along
like whispers of lovers meeting
in secret places,
where dreams become the forethought and focus
of a path lined with wildflowers,

refusing to be domesticated,
spreading fragrance
that, like a fountain of moon dust,
sprinkles its wisdom to heal the world,
to become whole again.