I think we're all of us looking for a bit of peace. Be it watching a sunset or grand babies, sitting with our coffee and a glowing screen, listening to chickens cluck and roosters crow or the hum of city life outside your window. The world goes fast and we take our happy where we can find it. I think I write for that above all else. Looking for peace, a center, to relish the moments before they pass me on by. Here's a poem from another day when I was realizing just that.
Lullabye of the day
The in between, the middle ground, that shade of perfect gray. A sky that's low,with heavy clouds, to cover a December day. It's in this space, the waning time, a sun that's already in bed, that I find me, the one I lose, within the depths of my own head.
It's there dear friend,
my brush in hand or
words wash cross my mind
perhaps pen and ink
to write on my heart
or peel back a page of time.
Things like crumpled paper towels,
crayons on the floor,
shadows and light,
tilt of a head
can help me re-open the door.
Round and round
the ties I've bound
to keep myself from stray
so afraid to loose that bow
that makes the
perfect
way.
For I'm not perfect,
nor want to be,
forgetting false cares of the world
I remember the real
I am
in a strand of hair I've twirled.
The tippy toeing
of a childs heart
my worries in her face
that anquish there
at such an age
should never have found a place.
My words which rhyme
in sing song tongue
to rock us all to sleep
the day is done
yet voices call
and find the love
I need to reap.
No comments:
Post a Comment