for Jim
Its sullen bands of back-lit clouds,
The sun intent on sinking quickly,
Soon to lick its many wounds in
Private, and the naked trees, the
Morning's promise hours gone,
The chill, the feeling that the
Planet's dying, months or years
Ahead of death, and darkness,
Like a friend, and sleep. It's hell
To be awake. The morning's promise
Disappoints. The sense that all's
Already lost, which haunts each
Evening in the fall, appeals to my
Misshapen soul. This is my time
Of day.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 20 times
Written on 2013-11-07 at 00:35
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Dusk
Now, this would be my time of day:Its sullen bands of back-lit clouds,
The sun intent on sinking quickly,
Soon to lick its many wounds in
Private, and the naked trees, the
Morning's promise hours gone,
The chill, the feeling that the
Planet's dying, months or years
Ahead of death, and darkness,
Like a friend, and sleep. It's hell
To be awake. The morning's promise
Disappoints. The sense that all's
Already lost, which haunts each
Evening in the fall, appeals to my
Misshapen soul. This is my time
Of day.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 20 times
Written on 2013-11-07 at 00:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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