The world is tinged in melted kaleidoscopic hues
As the sun dies,
Mother Moon casts brilliant spectrums of light.
In the moonlight, we may find solitude, inner peace, and a quiet introspection,
Which gives way to melancholy.
The rise of great forlornness is not weakness, but strength of mind.
I know that my womanhood lies not in my breasts,
But in the stars of my eyes.
My eyes see the light of essential moral and philosophical truths.
The gentle, curving valley between my thighs
Cannot possibly hold the same power as my shining eyes.
Under the grand, sweeping view of the stars,
We see points of reason lighting our way home.
Sense, O great sense is the reason for everything,
It is my reason for being.
Reason is the root of all that is just, noble, and civic-minded.
Why then does the gentle stir of the wind invoke my immortal soul?
Why is the essence of existence encapsulated in the rapture of sensibility?
Sensibility, though she be but a fair maiden,
Her compassionate honesty is far crueler than any blade.
It is sensibility that doth stir my fingertips in the night.
Swirls of tender remembrance twirl my heart into a heaving sigh
That gets lost in my lungs and caught in my throat.
My hands run through my wispy strands of hair
As my inner words hold my heart in a tight vise-like grip.
So I remain in quiet servitude to sense, my kind and charitable companion.
Sense tells me that I need to listen to what enlivens my mind,
Gives me reason to think
And to yearn for the kaleidoscope of infinite possibilities.
I must listen to the faeries that fly in my bloodstream.
To truly know one’s heart,
One must purposefully break it.
The heart will then rebuild itself.
It will glow in the golden embers of the dying light.
Though sense is moral and sensibility is passionate,
I know that we need both intellectual and spiritual truths
In order to fully exist.
The reforestation of my heart gives way to great oak trees,
Full of luscious jade leaves.
The sunlight streams through the windowpane again,
And my body aches from numbness.
Where, O where, is Mother Moon
In the dreamy, ethereal sunlight?

Melissa Reese is a Salisbury University student with a major in communication arts – multimedia journalism and a minor in English. Her journalistic works have been published by The Flyer, the Salisbury University newspaper. Her short story “Electric Poppy” was published in Connections Magazine, the College of Southern Maryland literary magazine.