Saturday, February 22, 2020

Fist Full of Petals or A World of Ink


 What is your life? 
You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
James 4:14


Poised on the brink of Bygone beneath dawn’s pink canopy
We touch unbroken ground of endless possibility
The avenue that courses through a flue of stars and dust
Is like Past’s oeuvre laden with hope’s fresh matters of trust
Where settled on a canvas woven with nettles and gauze
The tug that tests the mettle of the man begins its cause

If we are wise we recognize the prize beneath the bow
How melodies we miss were played on strings of here and now
How even when the notes we thought would blend startle the heart
With dissonance, yet, looking back they played a vital part
Of teaching us to cherish what will perish with the night
Ah, Time is like a lad with a voracious appetite   

The poet pleads for patience where the skyline inkwells bleed
And Duty hoists its banner beneath orders to proceed
Where one or fifty poems less not many seem to mind
And never balk against a bridle woven with love’s grind
That steals away the hours like a grand hibiscus-bloom
No matter how delightful, dusk insists upon its plume

Where a fist full of petals none can affix to the stem
Today is like a flower that will never bloom again
The agony of letting go would not exist, my dear
Without the joy that always precedes farewell’s tender tear
Where on the eastward brink, pastel pink efflorescence slips
From a fresh bud; a world of ink teases our fingertips

© Janet Martin

1 comment:

I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!