Of Silence and Sunday

Silence and Sunday

February, 

and daylight 

creeps slowly, 

stealthily, 

silently, 

across the eastern rim 

of a rising sky.

Hushed, 

are the winds, 

the trees 

and fields, 

as a single bird 

lifts the wings 

of dawn 

to fly.

For it’s colder 

today; 

the shadows of 

dark, 

of night, 

slip across 

the empty streets, 

beneath 

the street lamps, 

naked of light 

and empty 

of meaning: 

the lengthening lens 

of light begins 

to open the awakening 

of another day.

For nobody’s awake, 

just words, 

being written, 

describing, 

encircling, 

an awakening world. 

And beautiful is 

the sunrise, 

the ripples 

and wraiths 

of pink blossom 

and cloud, 

lifting the rhyme 

the hymn

of early morning 

hours.

And in the very moment 

of waiting, 

the church bells chime 

and quiver, 

the thick blanket 

of morning’s cold, 

the frost 

of starlight 

in veils 

of white and grey, 

spread invisibly: 

millions of fingers 

of diamond glass 

spread in fires 

of light and reflection 

across the ploughed 

and patient fields, 

deep in winter, 

deep in the frozen, 

deeper in the roots 

that keep the slow 

and turn of earth 

and sun,

forever in motion.

And above, 

the moon, 

the moon 

that was risen,

now falls 

slowly, 

silently, 

softly in dreams 

behind 

the shuttered eyes 

still sleeping, 

in embraces 

of stupor 

or slumber, 

the people turn 

and moaning 

lift the day 

from pillows, 

to windows 

missing the first 

of hours unfolding, 

lost in forgetfulness, 

the words stop, 

the silence, 

listens, 

lifetimes in patterns 

of light 

at last, at last, 

unfold.

Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!
[email protected]