A Day's Remains

Like ancient scars on an unknown world
that slumber in long lost light
Until awoken by roving eyes
that watch from far away
To tell quiet tales of battles and wars
that in ages lost were fought
Until all that changed for a million years
was lonely night and lonely day

My thoughts did wander, like the sleepy dances
of treetops on windy night
A clover hither, a branch there,
myriad leaves fluttering about
Stilted prose, sullen verse,
faint lyric milled beyond sight
Thoughts gurgled and rustled and screamed,
sans words I languished in drought

Oh! 'twas a fine, sunny day
when you breathe in and let out a smile
But 'twas a bit too fine, if it can be so
and no thought was good enough
And in the perfect day i looked for cloud
and sat weary in my isle
The birds' jargon I heard no more
for my musings grew loud and gruff

I pondered 'pon things that had long come to pass,
of paths I was yet to cross
I walked through tender failings and histories of men,
lost in silent unbidden reverie
A passing leaf touched my pensive cheek,
and whispered through eternity
'Like dawn, like dusk, all things must end.
Like hope 'tis meant to be!'

look! there lies the horizon,
painted red by a star's long toil
And yonder east darkness rolls
onwards like muted thunder
The creek is red, yonder brooding hill,
red, the musty soil
Night draws nigh and dusk grows far,
I watch, in my isle, in wonder

Ah! the colors of a dying day,
heaven's hallowed, mute requime
The clouds weep their scarlet tears,
and wisp into troubled forms
Ah! the colors of a dying day,
a song with no end, no seam
The day is done and yet I wait,
as darkness, in a sigh, conforms

NEW MORN

The day yawns wide and stretches
With the rays of the bubbly sun
The eagles soar and watch
The wonder of a day begun

The birds twitter and chirp
And traverse terrace and tree
Distant bells and mooing cows
Blend into symphony

The swish of the lone sweeper
Sprinkles dust into dreary fog
Green hills shed cloudy blankets
And the valley looks agog

Sleep leaves in lazy reluctance
In a swaggerwith droopy eyes
Warm beds and crumpled blankets
Are bid hesitant hurried goodbyes

The smell of coffee and fresh cooking
Glide out to the empty street
Street urchins sleuth for food and rags
And talk of mothers, and cars and sweets

The sea roars it's welcome
And slaps the sullen rocks
The little girl picks conch shells
And the wind, round a stranger, walks

The city shines golden
Golden, the hills and the fens
Golden the sea and the stranger
And the tear on the tip of his pen