A Poem a Day (692): Solace

 
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