Waking up to lavender skies
peeling off layers of sleep
the future comes from the east
Dreams and schemes of deliverance
appear as opiate fantasies
spider cross web of morning
Eos resides in our spirits
immune to time’s messages
whose breath fresh is dawn
whispers aweigh, secrets of night
lain on cloud pillow
held high and higher yet
promises to self are kept
Lift me up, sing to me
voices fresh a-morning
These are cleansing of solitude
a lullaby and just before
full consciousness, eve is lost
Behold the celebration
to which dawn aspires
Aurora Review Published Winter 04/05
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Sometimes I pretend I'm still asleep so nobody can ask me to get breakfast for them, and I make it last for an hour!
Blessings,
Christine