Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2020
There are always waiting spectors
as morning’s penumbra ripples
where chants of the mind play
to an audience of one.

They shape the mist as dawn
expands and connects each breath.
The weight of darkness lifts to
the edges of ether, emptying
the private hole of self.

Slowly, the hours
open to the hovering light,
the soft burn of the sun.
Like an instant between
seasons, the clot of darkness
dissolves.

There on the edges of wakefulness,
unexpected color breaks open silence,
dispersing the night’s assembly of ghosts.
Written by
Sara Brummer
274
     ---, Kitten Yvad, Egg, BLT and Carlo C Gomez
Please log in to view and add comments on poems