Solace
Morning is
as evening was,
shutters clamped,
the blue wrestles in,
motions in
the egg-yolk sun full-stamped
with sweeps
of white, pink streaks of light.
Left to our
solitary reinvented selves
we climb
the walls of our cluttered minds,
think upon
boredom as a quieting sigh,
make plans
only to procrastinate and dream
a while.
Evening is
as morning was,
starlight flown
across a void of dark voices,
countering
the elements, seldom reined back,
and we
stack our dreams against twilight’s verse.
We will be
lost until we are found.
Above, the
blackbirds sit lulled into silence
as we wander
barefoot through dewy grass,
peek through
jaded leaves to see the dawn
blink in.
Morning is
as morning could be,
and we rise
with the lark, open senses,
welcome the
day in mindful gratitude,
curious to see
in another year’s restart.
Open a
book, pick up a pen, visual on paper,
play a
note, sing a lullaby, greet the early bird.
We hunt
inspiration outside our sheltered selves,
seek conversation
and a connection in time,
become alive.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, October 15, 2024