Morning thaws nocturnal chill,
Infusing eyes and limbs with will,
To live, to breathe, to move, to heal,
To wonder if what we sense is real.
Of colors, taciturn or floral bursts,
Beckon a glimpse as if to thirst,
For minds and eyes and selves to brood:
What be this place, so richly hued?
Why do light and corneas contrive,
An endless feast before our eyes,
And sugar, starch, proteins, reveal,
Mad dance of tastes at every meal.
Whilst pain of body and pain of soul,
This endless longing to be more whole,
Why not go quietly into the night?
Why this ache that our years be slight?
And every time we face the test,
Another beloved we lay to rest,
We hate the darkened journey hence,
And cry for more-more recompense.
The evening colors bleed reds to grays,
An ache for love rises through the haze,
To live, to breathe, to move, to heal,
And wonder we at all that we feel,
Seeping through the cracks.
1 comment:
This is my favorite perceptive stanza here:
Whilst pain of body and pain of soul,
This endless longing to be more whole,
Why not go quietly into the night?
Why this ache that our years be slight?
this has some of the feel of your previous poem about the stages of the day that I also really liked. i wonder how you might approach a poem just about morning . . . somehow the beginning of the second and third stanzas had me envisaging the difficulty of looking into the morning light, but then you went another way.
Post a Comment