Break of Day to a Downcast Mind
Night wanders off, a madman, through the fields Of dawn, feasting on wild honey and The matutinal cooing of white doves. But to the downcast, daybreak is as a Beam lodged deep in the pudgy eye of hope: Promises unfulfilled, a lover lost; Or like an ancient friendship worn thin by Intervening distances and dead years. Thus, the rhododactyl dawn reddening The dew of each dandelion day smears To ochre the orange sidewalk chalk, as if Each morn were not a miracle, but a Breath sucked from the peat bog’s ooze, as if the Aim of each a.m. were to rue it came And await Madman Night’s furtive tread thru The postern gate at twilight’s waking hush.
nicely done!
it is hard to get a word like 'rhododactyl' into a poem neatly, and this somehow works. good stuff.
You write of a place and a feeling that is of more than passing familiarity. And I know that I am not alone. This will speak broadly for many...