© 2017 Steve King
All rights reserved
I watch and wait patiently for the sun,
and moments of forgetting then begun;
this bitter starlight cannot now redeem
an interregnum of confining dreams.
Old spirits are fled far and leave no trace,
no outlines to impress on shadowed space,
and though my pausing will not urge reward,
I’ll hold to what I pray shall be restored.
An undertow of hope thus sets my course,
and I must drift upon the dawning force,
to gather each small blessing that abides,
and cling to meanings cast upon new tides.
Emergent then, as from a numbing sleep,
so once again to sing, again to weep.
A new poem for the Poetry Pantry