Jennifer Cahill Poet Prose Poetry

A Harvest Palette For the Inauguration's America

Perhaps the "We" in a poem about young "America" can thread the plural pronoun 
into a universal tapestry:

"We" seek the Sunrise- fiery golden streams, threads of expectancy, not simply of hope.  Rarely realized.

Almost always recognized,
for we read, we write; we sing, we praise 
the "American Dream". Or God(s).

"We" are the intricacies of Belief. 
Of Choice(s). Of a trajectory of fading footprints: "We" take our first steps every "Dawn". 

"We" are souls who will vanish unless carved into stone. Or become a portrait on a wall, still viewing the World. 

Or our words can be bound-a  bandaged sky that allows a Star's light to sift through. And we can see a violet-onyx canvas that beckons 

with the glisten ofsterling pinpricks 
when the sky is dark. For this part of the tapestry: the color is of a petal dipped 

into a Harvest palette, blended into a flower of any pigment ever created by Nature, or by Science; a bloom that will turn to the Sun, 

that will fold into itself to rest, every twilight.
A tapestry of effulgence: rainbow 
to moonbow; radiation to the splitting 

of the photon.
The final seams are tat to drape a veil, 
many veils, to keep secret our true 

countenance; 
to create the facade that bouys 
while "we" drift..

towards another Sunset..
rubicund golddust that spatters light; 
a shiny yolk that bleeds..a burst clot.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment