The pale sweep of dawn’s deep adheres
Triumph of daybreak over dark
It ushers its galactic arc
Across this spark of toil and tears
Where seasons splay then lay their shroud
Beneath the fray of feathered cloud
…as gold and gray, laughter, lament
Affects and infects mortal mind
The utter reach of thought designed
To rue what none can circumvent
From this hard clod of human hurt
Man, shod with little more than dirt
…stirs from his
slumber to behold
The resignation of the stars
As lo, upon yon eastern bars
A sea rushes where heights unfold
In blushing gold then pours far-wide
To wash the world with morning-tide
…and renders from Splendor’s Embrace
Midnight’s reprieve where frames of dust
Imbued with Soul and wanderlust
Struggle to trust a God of grace
That breaks the manacles of night
And wills its wake with morning light
…and the wherewithal to embark
Upon the pomp and circumstance
Of rigid rod and flushed romance
Before the curfew of the dark
Embellishes time’s little bowl
And keens Death’s Marksman to its Whole
…then, lest by quest of less than best
Time’s traveler misunderstands
This Thing that pours from mercy’s Hands
Whereby these sighs are cursed and blessed
We all would be all the more wise
To trust the Dictator of skies
…and never ask for more than this;
That He will guide and keep and stay
Lest unlearned passion leads astray
Look, what a splay of grace this is
Where the pale sweep of dawn adheres
God’s mercy to Time’s vale of years
© Janet Martin
It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
Lam.3:22
