Confessions at Dawn | Teen Ink

Confessions at Dawn

March 18, 2012
By Moon_In_A_Cup BRONZE, West End, North Carolina
Moon_In_A_Cup BRONZE, West End, North Carolina
3 articles 0 photos 7 comments

Twirling around, an invisible cloak, draped on the boughs of the towering oaks. The night’s final breath ghosting up from the roots, the star’s cold light giving a mysterious hue. Dripping down from a sparkling sky, it billows and sways as a lone wolf cries. The moon’s mournful sigh, the whistling leaves, the dancing fey, the loam below breathes, all shifting the shroud that graces the trees. As the moon sinks and her beauty becomes a husk, the time slowly passes into dusk. Now the sun’s gold enters at dawn but mother earth’s loom of trees goes weaving on. The burnt butter slicing through the hand spun thread, coating the string as comb passes again. Warmth adds comfort to the plutonian shades as the gossamer of early morning is whispered away. Climbing back up to the heavens from whence it came it creeps and slithers and wisps on its way. The veil causing sights to seem so pastel is burning away and silently quelled. Tendrils still curl at the knotted oak’s feet and stills lips around the body of the slender elms as they giggle girlishly. The spool of silver wanes as it drags itself from its bubbling brook, the queen of night betrayed by the blood red rook. So her lady pawn’s tears mottling the silk, as the sun scorches it, and turns it to whitish milk. Summer stripes on the winters shirt, the bite of her cold melted by his mirth. Trickling down, his lazy laugh chases away the last of her craft. The lady and her stars have drowned in light blue and the king sends her way her alluring tool. The last vestiges are hidden in knots and earthy pockets as the key of dawn opens morning’s locket.

I watched the show from my window, the mist dancing with the leaves and draping over the boughs like laundry on the line. She flirted with the grey light that filtered down from the moon’s shroud of clouds as the sun set it alight. Holes flared open and she flutters her lashes, slipping into shadows and rustling the pine straw. Ghosting over the dappled hide of the earth her silver hair rusting back to browns and green with other shades pulling free of their moonshine slumber. The ladies of morning open their green arms to the sky and their lily white skin embraces the misty kiss of daybreak, tasting freshwater and holding still as to not disturb their dewy jewels bestowed by the daylight. As the moon gave her last sigh, the curling beauty creeps again from her lips and I watch her nymphs dance in forests and dash across my driveway. They lay down to sleep, letting the breeze transport them wherever in their unaware states of rest. The sun begins to make sweeps with his golden arms, gathering up the remaining dredges of cold and leaves it with his lady moon. With his glorious smile he shines blazingly on the last mists of the filmy gauze of dawn’s swirling dress. The fabric sizzles and the smoke trails up as the heat chases the dancers from their sleep and sends them back to their mistress to hide behind her fading luminosity. The clear jewels still glisten on the faces of the lily maidens but all too soon they begin to bring their arms around their slim bodies, the jewels sliding down, now they are tears soaking into the hungry earth. As the sun climbed the cloudy stairs, his exuding warmth caressed the sleepy world beneath him. Climbing through windows he touches the lids of gentle faces, warming their lids and calling out in birdsong for them to awake.

All of this I saw, the dancing mist, the burning skirts. The sun touched my skin with his golden fingers and I smiled. The lady bathed me in her silver light and her lover burned away the chill and dried the tears I shed in the presence of the secretive and empathetic moon. Her cold glow unlocked my heart and I poured it all out to her and her starry maidens, my buried thoughts bubbling up and spilling onto the cold glass of my window, where the sighs of night whisked it away. No one else will know, they will never hear my whispered goodnights, my darkest wishes exposed in her radiance, it was all bared to her, and she will never speak a word. Everything said that night was burned away. The mist was my breath mixing with the breath of the moon. When the sun stretched and the mist skittered away, hiding in pockets that were turned out buy the shining hands, and they were all sent up in smoke. It curled away, never seen, never heard. The hours of confession has passed. My secrets died as flowers left on the stilled breast of dawn as she was slipped into a casket of time. They will wither, but the next night I will grant her a new bouquet to hold onto as her life grows faint. When the sun embraced her she gave a final sigh of lavender that in time will fade as day wears her blue dress, washing the violet stain from the cerulean fabric. Green trees reach for the sun, the one who gives them so much life as he pulls back the faded cover of night.

I watched my secrets and confessions and questions suffocate and disappear as sun set them on fire. Briefly I felt parts of my heart burn with them, but I could not keep them buried in the library I set them in. they had to escape, so I gave them to the moon, and the sun burned them all in a fiery act of passion. He saw them, but then as his fiery fingers licked at my secrets greedily, he let them pass from his mind. The sun would let his dear lady moon worry and fret over the musings of a young girl; he simply got rid of the evidence once all had been said. Spilled from a petal pink pitcher of lips that tripped over themselves in order to finally pour the words out onto paper so they wouldn’t be locked in the heavy chest in her heart.

The author's comments:
I was talking to the moon one night and i stayed up so late that i saw mist and it made me think of dancers and then it just spilled out of me

Similar Articles


This article has 1 comment.

on Dec. 19 2012 at 7:19 pm
AlwaysAntlers SILVER, Kingsport, Tennessee
5 articles 0 photos 72 comments

Favorite Quote:
“Don't forget - no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.”
― Charles de Lint, (from his book,The Blue Girl)

Nice. Really good job with the imagery, its very vivid. Great job!