Friday, 11 March 2016

1 New Poem

At Dawn
You choose;

there are no pistols in cases
anymore, no saddle sore breaking
up the pace of peace,

there are no swords of shaped iron
you could lend yourself to
that would clang steel to breast,

there are no water colour brushes
that could be dim-lit swirled,
faded shades as dockside artisans,

there are no monied dreamscapes,
a promise ring fortune’s golden,
it isn’t that timing, not now,

there are no breaking waves
on filmic beach, turned lighting,
tequila sunshine mornings.

But, you choose, not so hard,
just waking up.

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