It's 4am
and several years later
The sun still thinks of its early morning journey.
The moon yawns sleepily away
The birds have awakened.
In full chorus they greet this crisp hour's chime.
Too cold yet for crickets
Still I saw my first mosquito
Not many hours ago.
Should i care to dampen my feet,
Dew would still tickle my toes:
Its prepubescent banter renews each dawn.
Have I changed so very, I wonder?
More cynical perhaps
Less free, new chains I bind myself with
Old loves grown stale & forgotten by the other
They forge tight bitter links, do they not?
A coyote's howl echoes 'lorn
Brother how many dawns til you find peace?
I echo your sentiment, but do not cry
The sound slams 'round my heart
til it dies out in weariness.
It itches, I scratch
It pains me, I mourn
It is happy, I laugh
It serves for sorrow, I cry
But I do not cry out.
'Twould scare the birds, and though still alone,
'Tis yet a marvelous thing to hear a bird stretch.
Have you stopped to hear my silence?
04/23/1991
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, \ Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit \ Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, \ Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. ~~71, Rubainat of Omar Khannam
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2025 10 03 - It's a Con, I tell you!
AGAIN a number of years have flown by, slick as a whistle. But it's Con time again, and that made me think of this. Here. Words here tha...
-
I want to see you naked: without your hat, without wristbands, without the invisible protections you wall your soul with to survive. The res...
-
Grief washes over me like waves on the ocean A salty mist dries on my cheeks And I hear cries like seagulls' resounding in my skull As t...
-
It was erie this morning. Early morning mist obscured the trees in front of me as I sat at a stoplight. Brilliant ruby red, piercing in it...
No comments:
Post a Comment