By the Morning

When the sky strikes clouded hour

it should be sleep which you devour–

ancient rites

to lay your sights

upon the treasures of your birth;

shaded, still, but gold by mirth

a notion-thought, a nation-state

set upon the starry plate

lips consume by golden ticks

of time, of hearts, of callous pricks

(of soul, you dirty mind)

that in their feasting bind

further dawn, further hope

and leave the starving poets to elope

with museless musings

by economic typings–

which is to say, by morning I am weeping

for all the pains that you’re still keeping.

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10 thoughts on “By the Morning

  1. it takes an aware heart to feel the pains that others are still keeping…the feeling of those last couple lines is accentuated by the humorous address to the reader…nice device sir….have a great holiday….

    • It’s very strange. I’ve been doing so much rhyming of late. I tend toward the freeverse; this is decidedly unlike me. I blame the influence of certain poetic friends. And a happy holiday season to you too, Gay!

  2. Tis early for my brain to operate on full power so I (with clouded thought) am a little confused with the poems meaning.
    I do think Brian’s interpretation is correct and in that case would agree that your humour adds to a fine write.
    Yours sleepily
    Anna :o]

    • It is seeing friends face a wall of clouds instead of golden horizons; watching them have skills and hopes and dreams and faced with grim reality. Watching poets turn to other fields to scratch out a living; watching hope falter, fade, and trying to let those around you know you see, you care, you empathize, and resolute as they may be, your sympathy remains.

      Don’t worry, i know how an early morning can impact. Glad you enjoyed my attempt at humor in its midst still, though!

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