SR Inciardi’s The Moment At Evening holds onto the last light—where grief, music, and memory settle like dust in a silent room. Read this stirring poem on Written Tales, and if your words carry weight, submissions are open.
Wonderfully elusive thoughts which, at first, are seemingly disconnected. Yet they present, to me, a trilogy of a night, and early dawn, of loss. Memories of moments and sounds swooshing in, fading into a wide-awake dawn.
“The way birds carry music” is a fantastic line. A very soulful, solemn poem.
I liked the imagery in this poem, beautifully written; the Italics add flavor. I liked the line, "scooped up with one hand pushing to the other," because it gave me such a vivid mental picture. Clever that you thought to write it.
Wonderfully elusive thoughts which, at first, are seemingly disconnected. Yet they present, to me, a trilogy of a night, and early dawn, of loss. Memories of moments and sounds swooshing in, fading into a wide-awake dawn.
“The way birds carry music” is a fantastic line. A very soulful, solemn poem.
I like the structure of this piece. It moves and it's moving.
I liked the imagery in this poem, beautifully written; the Italics add flavor. I liked the line, "scooped up with one hand pushing to the other," because it gave me such a vivid mental picture. Clever that you thought to write it.