(I wrote this while listening to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, hence the title. My first attempt at the villanelle form of poetry.)
When sleeping eyes open but are not awake, and rove as if in a living dream,
Wakefulness I drown in reverie’s waters, let me float on this lost stream,
It almost is true, this world I see, almost a fantasy.
Beauty like a cliff’s edge, to stand and peer or to plunge into its teasing, tempting abyss?
In an endless pursuit of fleeting moments, in a vain grab at a passing moonbeam,
When sleeping eyes open but are not awake, and rove as if in a living dream.