A Wish For a New Day
What happened to my boisterous boy,
beloved keeper
of wild bluebell skies?
You grew to be an audacious man,
An honest extension of perpetual wilderness
shaded blue
by a spirited you,
but discontent spurred foolish
thoughts of tranquility,
an internal peace surviving
only in the pause between
slow breaths of solitude.
So, you untied limbs from sky,
separated from your flock
(watching their graceful
formation rise above rueful rainclouds),
you plunged below sunken dreams
lower than last streams of dusky sun.
At what age do young men learn to run?
Variegated wings clipped, you slipped
into a cool, green valley of seclusion
and felt relief in its hollow
meditation of muffled morning,
nested soft in efflorescence –
with fragrant lasses dressed sickly sweet in
breezy taffeta dresses, light ruffles, blooming pastel bows.
Sans courage or care, you live on and on in your Shangri-La of despair.
And you (now impassive yet spewing charms) bow to rugged kings adorned
in purple crowns,
towering all around
your cocoon.
False security feeds your fade,
as an ink-bottle horizon
pours across starry-eyed canvas sky.
“You are too far from home, gone too soon!” bellows a vigilant moon.
When gravity fails,
you chain yourself
to comforts of blackest night.
Weary hands rub out starlight
crayoned in sparkling silver.
One day, you will tire, loneliness brewed from too many sheltered views,
and on that new day, I will see a vision of a wish come true -
a homecoming in baby blues, your wings colored bright,
beautiful birds in harmonious flight
against a seamless sunset.
You, like a jet spanning time,
I’ll see in reflective tides,
healed wings soaring on high.
A new dawn revealed.
Written 3/16/17 for New Day Contest
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2017
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