I know as the dawn approaches,
I will witness another great awakening.
First light steals last light from the stars
To lay on earth’s floor as a seal in wax.
I dare not even close my eyes
Lest darkness steal away the moment,
Filled with dawn’s silence, I had no choice.
But to imagine sound never heard before.
The light stretching now like a lazy cat,
Shadows creeping on silent paws,
Hiding behind a blade of grass,
Fingers of light begin to caress the land.
Dawn light a cool cloth on my eyelids,
The sun as burnt paper in my eyes.
The blue bells swinging slowly,
Like church bells in the breeze.
Ah, the breeze, did I forget?
Lost in the wilderness of wind,
Touching every blade and leaf,
With feathers of breath.
The light is coming fast now
Held prisoner no longer by waves of starlight.
The dead tree in silhouette against moonlight;
Night’s phantom now more familiar in day’s light.
I lay in stillness because
In stillness, we disappear.
My cold winter breath white,
Unable to escape, I reappear.
I close my eyes
To imagine the wisdom of dawn.
But only my own thoughts make way,
My eyes soon scalded as night becomes day.
Once again, nature’s astounding feat
To illuminate a theater of worlds.
Infinite grains of light blend luminescent,
Scattered from God’s pocket as the dust of pearls.
HOW COULD WE EVER APPRECIATE THE 'DAY' AS WE DO...WITHOUT HAVING BEEN THROUGH THE 'NIGHT'? I ENJOYED THIS WORK, JOHN, THANKS. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
You have penned an aura of Nature that far to few appreciate. Hopefully those of lessor preference will read and realize even a small part of your perception. Kudos.
What can I say that La Belle hasn't said? From start to fnish, and let's not forget the in between . . . "The blue bells swinging slowly,
Like church bells in the breeze." . . . Youre Muse was working overtime here, John. I loved this poem. Thank you.
Explore the mystery of how nature makes unexpected gifts of creative wonders to an unsuspecting caregiver one late night and early morning in southeastern Georgia, USA.
Shadows creeping on silent paws,"
I love this! I can see it! I love the shadow cast by dead trees on unadulterated snow. Such a statement!
Love ya!
Jane
Like church bells in the breeze." . . . Youre Muse was working overtime here, John. I loved this poem. Thank you.