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Poem

Dawn comes upon me lingering 
at the edge of a new day.  
Watching it pull shadows from their beds, 
stumbling out on wobbly legs, 
tall as trees walking; slates seen 
between peach coloured hues spreading 
across my view like a sea from a budding flame. 

I watch these shades sway like swimmers 
through ever brightening waves;
starting their day-to-day, and I wonder,
did they want to be pulled from their beds 
or were they slaves like us to some alarm 
unheard at the cresting of that flame, 
pulled to and fro by tides in their brightening sea 
like we are moved in fate’s wake. 

Or would they have been free to choose; 
would the dawn first peak at the day, 
come upon a sea of peach hues instead? 
And just you and I left to our own tides pulling us 
This way and that sans shadowy shapes keeping pace.
And as that flame begins its pace, becoming pressed 
and pulled in all shapes. Against their will being made
And unmade; old, then young, then old again. 
Wandering aimlessly through another’s day-to-day.

As time brings them to bed again, do they 
peacefully dream, or are they tied to us 
even then? Following our hopes and fantasies, 
being chased by our fears down Past streets. 
When I awake; groggy from my night of ethereal plays, 
is it only my shades restless night found written 
upon my haggard face. When night’s events are lost 
at the break of day, is it only then that shadowy “I” 
finally finds its own resting place?

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