Hello readers! I’m back from a brief absence, and with this post i’m returning to an early passion for poetry. I hope something in the following piece speaks to you.
In the still of earliest morning
Dark still rules yet pledges light
I’m thinking of how things fall apart.
And how mirth collides with mourning
With dawn afar, dark heralds night
Color in shadows requires art
And rarely, with less forewarning,
Things come together, they turn upright
This i stumbled on by heart
The art we make at night must be with inner light composed
So with a heart that’s scarred and yet more open than supposed
I find most often now I write with both of my eyes closed