Friday, January 27, 2012

As in a dream

As in a dream the morning wakes;
in misted dawning
it yawns into day.
Here, in cold breathed light
and hazed vaguery,
another meeting is birthed
part formed, incomplete.
For here the story of the day
builds, with slow revelation
and receding cloud,
into unbred eternity.
Soon the thrice-crowing
of reality will steal good intention,
stain the diary with some self-filled act,
smudge the page with need.
This is a quiet place
awaiting the clamour, the gaudy voices,
of unwelcome intrusion
dusking its own darkness into the dawning.
And yet, as in a dream, the morning wakes
and holds within its gift
all possible things.

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