in the murmur of a new dawn
comes the scent of something lost
beckoning -
the way a flower craves sun
to bleed through faded petals
i stop...
the taste of eons past
melting with the dew drops
on silent lips,
utopia streaking my hair -
golden highlights
tinged with melancholy
a yearning
tearing at secret chambers
wanting to be known
to tranquility only
a whisper so soft
even beyond death's grave
through the window
painting the autumn morning sky
the remembrance
of love -
its faint echoes rising
stamping preternatural visions
on sleep-stained eyes
5 comments:
If I were as brilliant as you I would have written something similar about the first smell of morning, I love this, gosh you're a grand poetess
Not a morning person I, perhaps much is being missed as you describe.
I may rethink my patterns in hopes of new insight?
goatman
Lorraine - brilliance is relative - in your verses on Words Flow and Stuff comes a depth far beyond the normal :)
Goatman- indeed, if open, one absorbs much knowledge in the silence of a glorious dawn - I recommend strongly :)(more so than at sunset for the day's recent activities interfere with absorption)
Also, my apologies for deleting your comment on the other blog - was in the middle of switching templates but Blogger refused to allow me to do so (it was my own template design) and still keep the same url - the problem was finally resolved hence the deletion of the new one.
lovely nostalgia....and most evocatively written...loved the poem, Janice :)
wishes,
devika
Devika - many thanks for your words
Post a Comment