Movement.
Dawn hangs on the trees, force slivers floorward,
slips into sleep's acres,
turns shade to tailgates of light over which rays
snipe at quiescence
before sunrise presence moves 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 mind rouses
to sense Heaven's infinity ticking away rest- time
making the richer
seconds remaining for flight's drowsy treasure as
night hooks day to my use.
-
Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: July 15th, 2017 03:56
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
Offline)
Comments6
There is only one person I know who can write like this: You!
Thanks for this early morning poem, but I have to go to bed now. 🙂
Ha ha - - glad you enjoyed the read and sweet dreams Fred - hoping you wake refreshed.
Good write Fay.
My thanks for the visit and for the comment dear Mr. O..
FP is right - so self-evidently a Slimm and oh so good.
Humble thanks Michael - hoped you would understand the deep imagery used.
You never need worry about whether anything you gift is too verbose. When Fay speaks, we consume in hush. Too many favorites to quote.
loved your words fay
Another awe inspiring write Fay. Thank you.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.