Weeds Of Desolation

To dream not the morning which comes soft on the night.
To have held on, yet to only to lose robs faith of its sight.
For I have tasted of the bitters which once adorned my plate.
And I have thirsted deserts misery whilst submerged beneath life’s lake.

Yet it is unto today in which my dreams and plans were carefully laid.
Hope filled skies so blue, flowers bloomed; and where shadows once dark now strayed.

Yet once these sweet gifts prepared on angel’s wings now collapse on morning dreams.
Clouds cover the sun, and even unto the night; stars no longer shine nor of the moon gleam.

For the bitter herbs of yesterday’s sown seed come now into silent rage.
Wild are these choking vines of despair grown full upon life’s center stage.
 So whence shall this soul dream on the morrow again?
Or is the past and of its bitters so unruly, that darkness wins?

Seeds of yesterday sown; reap now the harvest of days unknown….

J. Allen Wilson © TWO 2007