Friday, February 11, 2005


Photographer Unknown


First glance reveals a bulb bereft of filament.
Night approaches, dark encroaches,
even as the noonish sky casts its light upon the town...

Or else, the night was passed in blindness and in longing
for this day's first light to end the evening's fear,
the would-be-sleeper's bane...

Yet again, perhaps one sits and seeks
the world beyond the filament:
gentle warmth upon the breeze of sunset flame,
or cool reflections of the sky at sunrise once again...

Upon reflection, sways perception:

Perhaps the night was sleepless;
perhaps her thoughts were filled with troubled grief.

Notwithstanding, just as likely,
may she not have drifted off to sleep
in dreamless, peaceful slumber;
awakened to the bliss of morning azure firmament,
without a conscious care for broken filament
beside her bed, upon the sill?

No comments:

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

Site Hits