Sleep's Acres..
Dawn hangs on trees, its force slivers floorward,
slips into sleep's acres,
turns shade to tailgates of light over which rays
snipe at quiescence
before sunrise leaps in to move bleary dreamers
to wide-away doers.
Day breaks to bathe passive eyes with forewarning
for blindness precedes
flashes of conscious surrender to sight as inertia's
sweet stupor
casts veils around seeing but breath catches gasps
when still becomes movement.
Ears mistake sleepy whispers for proactive reality
when shaken sense rouses
to feel timeless infinity ticking away rested hours
making the richer
seconds remaining for flight's drowsy treasure as
night hooks day to its use.
Alarms ring to startle Dreamyheads who waking
swing a finger to kill
sound - then dive down inside the duvet again.
-
Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: December 22nd, 2022 06:06
- Comment from author about the poem: This is for those like me who find rising in cold winter mornings a chore.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments5
made me chuckle .. because I know exactly what you mean chuck .. x
Good write Fay.
For some reason sleep, in the early morning hours always seems the sweetest. Dreams seem the sweetest at dawn. Beautifully written dear Fay, you capture it perfectly.
I am always an early riser, if I am still in bed at six in the morning I have had a lay in.
Andy
by nature I'm an early bird
but I still love both your wording
and playfulness in this ode
to dawn's duality of importance
in all our lives..
thanks for sharing, dear Fay
a great read!
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