Early morning


It was in the early morning, blackbird song and
long wet grass, shuffling through making trails in dew
In the early mornings of my life.
Something of magic in the sun slanting
through wet dripping branches,
pearls of water drops in spidery webs enchaining
blade to blade in the long wet grass.

It was in the early morning rising from warm sheets
when hearing that cuckoo summons from
far distant woods, calling , welcoming me forth
into the dewy day, doors unbolted, stepping from within
dark walls, shadowed kitchens, cold and stony floor.
Stepping forth and catching at my heart.
They were.
Sun’s rays, dewy grass, pearls of water drops.

(People Alone)


Maybe it's normal...maybe it's not,
maybe, i overdo it....yet, i still do it.
i always think of things to come
...at day time....even late nights,
thinking too much of my children
my children's children...my siblings
i even think of my siblings' brood
my dear friends and their worries
...thinking how i can help them.
....later, i get weary....fed up at times,
exhausted from worrying......wondering
how i could remedy even a bit....when
my hands are not that long to reach out.
...........................................
then, i think of people who live alone,
their thoughts...their predicaments.
there are those who enjoy and
progress in their solitude....then there
are those who are given no choice,
forced.......or suddenly found themselves
in that space....souls that cope with consequences,
alone at nights...while their frustrations
breathe on them...and stare back at them.

some end up too absorbed
in their own darkness.
........................................
those lovely night falls...those resplendent
moon-glowed nights, are joined...stained
by silent lamentations.....muffled cries,
yet...playing loud as thunder,
in the high open air...
.........................................
moments of hiding and seeking linger on,
they try to seek some fun,
yet, their ghosts, make them run,
whether in the dark, or under the bright sun.
weary eyelids become heavy, like those of a swan
sleep teases like evil...a bit of painful memory, and it's gone
...one's night is done...
..........................................
and, i realize
as i think along these lines,
my worries are just pebbles, not big stones
like theirs that whir,
over and over,
like a drone.
........................
whether with company, or on their own
they are people alone...


Sally

Copyright October 24, 2017
rrab