Tag Archives: dawn

Where These Waters Lead

Where these waters lead,
It would seem
Today they lead to colder streams.
They’ve more than one destination, I’ll concede,
This just one stop of many
Before we reach the sea.
Today colder streams,
Tomorrow ice-rent seams,
Where these waters become too cold to flow.
In the valley of the moon,
Dawn can’t come too soon,
To free us from our temporary tomb,
And sun shines on more sun-filled shores before we reach the sea.
This is where these waters lead.

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New Light To Elsewhere


I see a sign to nowhere,
A door that was once there.
An empty room, gray.
Abandoned light: day.
Something becomes nothing,
Nothing is everything.
Nowhere to go, no worries.
Searching for a path long buried.
On this gray path a new one to nowhere,
From this forsaken dawn, new light to elsewhere.

Cold End

The coming dawn, I know it to be cold.
From a distance: voices, faces, in mist,
Are illusions lurking, or so I’m told.
In their discourse, they wildly insist
That if they fervently wish to be real,
It is so. Without permission they lease,
Manafest strange feelings for me to feel,
These things that cause my worries to increase.
A cold path waits for me after waking.
The morning sun abhors my taking warmth,
And I find no heat from it worth taking.
They, in the mist, wish for me to go forth.
Nothing before me but my bitter end:
A garden of sorrow, which I must tend.

Stationary

In an end unto our own
Tells not the knell for whom to toll
When endangered, runs from home
One forgets to secure the soul.
Up all hours, a sleepless night,
No rest until dawn, none till twilight.
There is none to be found, why seek?
It is as unreachable as the moons keep.
The ship that is sleep brings no rest
Though it ferries you to dawn,
The waves it rides, reveal at their crest,
You’ve been stationary in this ocean all along.

The Path She Strides

The path she takes tends to lean
Towards one side more than the other it seems.
Down the dim-lit path she strides,
They are few but loyal in whom she confides.
Where does she go? Can you see? Does it matter?
They that cross her, she calls each black cat hers.
She knows dawn will come of its own accord,
And how she gets there is as important as her choice of room and board.

Weeds?


A shower comes to springs end.
A new dawn with which to tend,
Each new day having brought a seed,
Whether it a flower or it a weed.
Though who’s to say which one is?
The beholder’s as shallow as it is,
Every daughter and son: a judge unto themselves.
Every court without a jury; mercilessly and unjustly delves
Into the case of assigning value.
Into the ends that suit themselves.

No Use In Asking Ashes

Transcendent fire on the forest floor
Lifts one higher than before.
Not unlike dust in the wind,
Smoke curls in and out again.
Rising above the trees below
She sees the ashes she did sow.
And in destructions wake it seems,
A moment to take and slowly breathe.
The pale rose sunset against a sky too long,
Ushers in a dimmer dawn.
No use in asking ashes “What if?”
She lifts herself to give the sky a kiss.

Artwork by loish at http://www.loish.net