Thursday, January 2, 2020

Like A Year...


 

Whispers riot in the quiet aftermath of having held
Twilight’s timbre tugs within her as woman and welkin meld
Longing lingers pointing fingers where her flawed farewells run wild
Mercy murmurs like a mother tucking in her sleepy child

Moment-tempo metes mementos dripping from the ticking clock
Breath-soft flickers harden into pictures solid as a rock
My, the saber of her labour can sever scenes subtly
As she staggers ‘neath a dagger that twists with what cannot be

Today’s mirror is much clearer than the one she used to hold
When much younger, she honed hunger bent on panning for fool’s gold
Now she grapples with the apple of time’s eye; sunset, sunrise
Gaping at the echoes taking shape before her very eyes

Seasons meter bitter-sweeter in the afterglow of youth
Reason reckons where proof beckons from the faultlessness of Truth
Wisdom humbles pride with stumbles teaching her about God’s grace
While the hour drops its flower like a tear year none can retrace

© Janet Martin






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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!