Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Dusk



When Daylight dips its brush into
A pot of gold and black and blue
And tips the jars of musk and dew
I think that heaven’s river drains
And lends to dusk a glimpse of When
We set aside this Stride and Yen
To see with eyes the Prize of Then
Where now imagination strains

When Daylight lowers a dark cape
To snuff the color from land’s scape
And mute the noise of joys that shape
The Corridors of Looking Back
I think that, though we cannot see
Somewhere a seraph-company
Soft-stills then spills things heavenly
To earth in angel-robes of black

When Daylight fades then disappears
Into the Place of Finished Years
With faces framed in smiles and tears
How easily the heart believes
In Heaven as it bends to touch
The dirt and hurt of hearts and such
Then kind-kisses with stars the Crutch
We lean upon on Bygone’s sheaves

© Janet Martin

(since our internet never works after a certain time of day, I've had to resign my sop(seat of pants) blogging to a different style, like posting dusk poems at dawn etc:)


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