Survivors

Survivors

Sunday, August 16, 2020

A Certain Morning

©Steve King

All rights reserved

 

 

This window admits little light,

even as the sky is lifting blue.

These morning clouds appear too soon.

 

Day upon day,

measuring in moons

and a slow dark drift of stars,

all disappearing, while I try

to purge these eyes of everything

that would invent new dawns.

 

I called indeed at first

from the distant center of a dream,

dreamed that you had answered

through a dark cloud of your own.

I could not hold those meanings

in a heart’s uncertain light,

so all the while I prayed to wake alone.

 

Watching to night’s latter end,

I’ll not disturb the shadows, no;

nor any of the rising shades within

that must at once be mine and yours.

Or even you and me.

These mingle in a kind of drizzle grey just now,

not rich enough to pass for color,

nor for things found in a decent light of decent day.

 

I stir now with desire as to a perfect stranger,

just that way the perfect stranger knows,

stretched beyond the bounds

of new and old beginnings,

those with neither name nor place,

and of each recollection

whispering the deaths of easy ends,

for I am poor at heeding these

and shall not try again.

 

I seem but a dream, inviolate,

and would deny the moment.

Each thought retreats,

spent waves slipping dark sands,

lost to looming tides

and the refuge of the deep.

 

Yet some true measure must abide

to spin such shadows out of sight.

Some shall flee, while others keep;

all else that’s left defies the old commands.

What this may be, I render to your hands.

 


16 comments:

  1. This is beautiful, Steve...you had me at "measuring in moons" and it just got better from there. I can feel the yearning, the sense of so much of life already past and lost, the hope that is constantly dashed that love can be saved, found, restored, and after all it's sand trickling through our hands. But the last stanza tells us not to abandon all hope, but to look for what is steadfast and remains. Really an excellent poem, and so glad I caught it on my sidebar.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you so much for these generous words, Joy.

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  2. This is incredibly evocative! Especially like; "I seem but a dream, inviolate, and would deny the moment. Each thought retreats,spent waves slipping dark sands, lost to looming tides and the refuge of the deep."💝

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  3. Nicely done, Steve. I love the way this poem shimmers with different kinds of light, especially the ‘slow dark drift of stars’, the ‘distant center of a dream’ and ‘a heart’s uncertain light’. I also love these lines:
    ‘spent waves slipping dark sands,
    lost to looming tides
    and the refuge of the deep.’

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  4. I love this.. to me it seems like your nights are larger, bolder than the days. I wonder if there is a real difference between dreams and reality at night.

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  5. Reading this, I felt adrift on gentle waves in the ocean and it was as if your words were thoughts that came to mind. A compelling piece.

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  6. How to hold what seems intent on slipping away - something we all face at some time.

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  7. Day upon day,

    measuring in moons

    and a slow dark drift of stars,

    What a beautiful image!

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  8. I admire this poem...where dreams become real and reality is dreamy!

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  9. I love the way this poem shifts between the imagination and reality. This line and your final verse are very prophetic.'whispering the deaths of easy ends'

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  10. "...spent waves slipping dark sands, lost to looming tides and the refuge of the deep."

    I get a dual feeling from this: a gentle calm restful rocking as one slips into somnolence, but the ultimate sleep from which one do not wake.

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  11. I feel there is a thin line between reality and dreams. I, sometimes, wonder which is the true reality. This is multi-layered with deep thoughts. It feels like an encounter in a parallel world with someone familiar yet unfamiliar.

    I wonder do you journal your dreams? I have many volumes.

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