Poemed: Primum Tempus

When I was younger, after the night prayers were said, I would sneak outside my room to visit the moon, I would stand barefooted at the back of my house, heads high, staring at the moon with an optical maser focus, the stars never distracted me. There, staring at the moon, I would mutter words, I can never recall or remember; for each time I reached out for a pen and a paper, the words slipped away from my head, pouring into the earth. the words were never meant to be written. So I learned ...