Monday, March 15, 2010

on a park bench

In a passing breath, the light will fade as pillow clouds pass by,
Sitting on a park bench, still as trees, when dawn says goodbye,

I'll wait for sleep to come my way, if thoughts do not prevail,
But not before a whiskered Sun moves fast the night so stale,

With ease of hand the sun will shine his light upon my face,
But not until I've spent the time in nights unfathomed space,

What tethered thoughts will come to me, when darkness takes the front?
With fastened knots they swing about, withered thorns sometimes so blunt,

But peace will come eventually, from without or from within,
With rhyming words I'll tell the tale of nights without sin.

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