Morning brings what years may not
Enlightened windows curtains seep
Dreams curtailed deprived sleep
Road noise growling drowns bird chorus
Reluctantly it draws before us
Discordant harmony of dismay
Chores and tasks 'n' debts implores us
Lively up each treacherous limb
The whole fun thing starts now ag'in
No more snooze advantage lost
Tarry and all will be tossed
Decades of procrastination
Creeping backwards to stagnation
Bones cease into familial lair
Years rusted off as has care
For others thoughts of clothes and hair
And goals and things amassed there
For wealth and glorious admiration
No longer stir consternation
Bed vacated asylum crushed
Dreams of hopes asideways brushed
Business minutes masters eschewed
No escaping economic servitude
Ablutions 'n' misfit corporate drab
Cautious as a forward crab
The fare is petered with pleaded yawns
Paradise raised to memorial lawns
Accreted days in decades swell
Life stretches to super nova belle
In that first morning long forgotten
In loving care and love besotted
Most dawns unseen ephemeral
But each precious and precarious
Firsts and lasts our fragile ringing lot,
Each morning brings
What years may not.
DBD 11/7/2013
Beautiful written poem, what a flow of rich in thought and original expressions! A loving read, it makes us think and wonder what is a life's most precious things. Thank you for share!
you put everything together to point out what mornings AMAZINGLY bring this poem made me smile thank you.
Most dawns unseen ephemeral But each precious and precarious made my day!
Structurally, a balanced beat of the syllables like twinkle twinkle little stars...not faltering anywhere, maintaining rhthmic symphony, and thematically, an intense praise of the mornings...so nice! ! !
Decades of procrastination Creeping backwards to stagnation So true! For a lazy set of people who fail to live and act in the present, everything is pushed to tomorrow and progress is left in eternal stagnation!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The true picture of our firsts and lasts...........................great