Morning after Genesis
The sun still asleep
Awakening at appointed time
It has no troubled soul
That rouses rest from its nest of night
While darkness hovers over God.
But man awakens
in the shadow of dreams that prick one’s past, telling a story steeped in fear ,
tales of disguised darkness,
Of buried bones now come alive, resurrected in the valley of
Visions visible only to the sleeping soul.
“It was evening” but the morning hasn’t come-the sun still sleeps-and I must wait for its cleansing light.
Stars stud the sky; blankets of cloud
Bar the way of sparkling night-
It is morning, without rays of sun but the moon's silver crescent bodes well for the day yet to come.
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