Archive for December, 2011


It places itself upon the grass of every dawning day
Becoming a trap to light and an entity of delight
For observers who’s eyes adjust to it criminal performance
That stole the show from the sun.

Each time it seems to dance with rays of refracted energy
Like a diamond carved not cut for the specific purpose
Of travelling from raw materials to finished majesty
Before the eyes of those undone.

The tears of the morning are there every dawning with each day
Weeping over yesterday’s passing on into the memories
Of history and mythology accepting the previous into their
Eternal place of timelessness

The grass is heavy with each drop bearing its own glory
And agony simultaneously jostling for the spotlight of those
Who can observe the dazzling display of creation boasting its ability
To be present and allow its present to digress.

For wonder and honour do the petals carry their share of dew
Due to each day and each of nature’s outdoor family,
They must not allow even one drop to fall but only to
Evaporate in the course of the day.

As it is with any tear that is left to itself to live and die
Just like those whose death gave it purpose to exist on the
Cheek of any who have cried in the loss of life close by
And love that has been delayed.

“Who shed these tears?” the tall trees ask as they watch the ground
Underneath and surrounding them, that has been littered with
Dazzling treasures existing through the mere process of time passing…
Yes, Yesterday’s passing.

“Whose eyes released these?” enquired the birds in the branches,
Alive enough to move and be excused from the chore of holding up these
Gems in perfect stillness lest one should fall and be forgotten
By Time itself fleeting.

I looked at the dew of the morning and asked the same as the trees and birds,
Wondering what pain was felt to produce such expensive scenery
For such temporary showing screening before those who were still enough
To care for such a vista.

Is yesterday so alive that it must be mourned by each morning?
Should the tears of Time be found on the petals of beauty and growth?
Such filled my mind for I had my own purpose to impose upon the phenomena
Of nature’s process under the fading stars.

My own could not be shed for I could not be still enough to let them
Fall from my eyes and be carried by the petals of my cheeks to be evaporated
By the release of sadness into the air of continuing life
And opportunity as flexible and grounded as grass.

Every morning due comes with mourning dew,

For my own mourning due did not come to pass.

Over.

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