Mornings (Will Never Be the Same Again)

Sunrise burns through the early mist,
warming me like a quilt forever shared,
unaware the delicate, weak seams
would eventually fray and split;
letting the cold morning wind inside.

The storm arrives without warning,
fury consumes hurt, suddenly casting
a dark shroud across our blue skies,
over the angry sea, gray like wet slate.
Even at a safe distance, we can no longer protect
our moors from being thrashed upon
by tempestuous surf, uninvited to our private beach.

We do not have the strength and courtesy
to hold on to threadbare ghosts of our years.
Once tender now lies tossed,
heaped in a corner of tattered pain.

Traveling down broken and divided roads,
our backs turned, hearts chilled;
we walk away from mornings that once were,
to mornings that will never be the same again.

I Won’t Leave You

Aside

DSCN3834This poem first appeared in Journey On : Beauty and Grit Along the Way published in 2012. It has since undergone revision and will appear in the upcoming poetry collection titled Winter’s Call.

 

 I Won’t Leave You

You and I have many dusty roads still to walk together,

and blood red sunrises we have not seen

sitting side by side on a quiet beach.

There are many seashells

not picked up; memories not yet made.

We know the hope of a radiant summer morning,

and the deep peace of midnight stars.

 

We have laughter to remember, tears to brush away;

taking in the scent of rain on the wind and hay in a far off meadow.

In soft December while the snow falls draping the mountains,

we stroll alongside together, you clasping my hand,

as more colors appear…

leaving none behind.

Late Afternoon in Early Winter

The wood stove fire burns slowly,
warmth seeps into ridges of a red fleece blanket
that adorns my shivering shoulders.
Outside the snow softly falls,
swirls of silver and white cover
autumn into bare branched silence.

North winds howl,
white tailed deer scrape snow on their tongues
on a late afternoon in early winter.
Caught in high country silence,
I sit and wonder, will we ever dance together again,
one more time embrace
the soft rustlings of our mountain love.

The late afternoon begins to dim;
Night fall trails and gives way to the gray violet of snowy dusk.
I listen for your voice to echo down the high country ridge;
a gesture of your long awaited return home.
Outside the mountain settles into an early winter,
the deer and I wait for December snows to end,
and the passes to clear,
and embrace the pale glimmer of morning.