Dusk Falling Now Upon This Land Poem by ian westwood

Dusk laced in glistening winter mist,
The sadness of an ageing hand,
Once young and gently kissed.

Night falling now upon this land,
Night blighted by its grotesque shadows,
The dying notes of Salvation Army band,
Fearful figures cramped in clamshell hollows.

Night now engulfing sea and land,
Imprisoned light condemned to death,
Day’s remnants driven over distant sand,
By spinning wind of silent breath.

Dawn breaking now upon this land,
Autumnal dawn, in vitreous view,
Pearled spider web now spun and spanned,
From stem to stem in twilight hue.

Dew falling now upon this land,
In flowery cusp and fissured cliff,
Captured in the desert dweller’s hand,
As gold within the panner’s scouring sieve.

Day unfolding now upon this land,
Casting light on spellbound sombre spaces,
The sleepless being from deepest slumber banned,
Men stepping into day with staggered paces.

Day now engulfing all upon this land,
Day driving men to labour and to war,
A chaos, uncontrolled, yet ever scanned,
To seek a meaning, free of fault or flaw.

Day ending now upon this land,
With ageing eyes and minds in deep despair,
Tempting the question, “Was this all really planned,
Man’s madness forging hate in squandered care? ”.

Dusk falling now upon this land,
Dusk laced in glistening winter mist,
The sadness of an ageing hand,
Once young and gently kissed.