SUNRISE
The unmarked page is like a beach
that a writer walks at first light,
finding no footprints there.
I picture you at sunrise, each
slim page a small bird taking flight,
rising in soundless air.
Waking, I find a path inshore,
at dawn, where nothing man-made mars
clear, endless emptiness,
then, moving forward, set my score
of verses down: poems like soft-maned stars
in lightning harnesses.
In silent endlessness we meet,
wings skimming over fields of words
in a white country, fair,
and, like familiars, greet
each other easily, as do birds,
for it is peaceful there.
Like 'soft-maned stars' very much. I like the idea of finding an old bunch of poems, a proper word hoard :-)
ReplyDeleteI can't describe them as buried treasure because there was so much dross but, here and there, maybe a little sparkle.
ReplyDeleteI loved this Richard and the great image too Tx
ReplyDeleteThank you, T. I too love the image.
ReplyDeleteHi Richard, I certainly like this piece of writing, I can't explain why but it evokes of feeling of peacefulness.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Julian. As always, great to hear from you.
ReplyDelete