Forecast
Today ...
Today the sun shined ...
Horizon-to-horizon it warmed, marrow and moat,
Tickling those things below that wait patiently for a turning.
Tomorrow?
Snow, so they say ...
But as life, what tomorrow brings, only tomorrow knows,
And perhaps hope lies waiting, trembling in cold soil.
Two-thousand-and-twenty is but a babe ...
And though it was brought forth in the brisk, biting breath of winter,
It holds the opportunity and prospect of the sun.
Long days always follow short,
Cold always bows low to warmth and bloom,
And while those white flakes may dust the air with crystals on the
morrow,
Though hardship and challenge may place themselves under our feet,
And the year start with ominous clouds of question and challenge,
They, too, are but ephemeral and brief,
And the day, AS the year,
Is what we make of it ...
The cold clay in our hands will warm to mold and ply,
And the things we fashion are naught but as the weather -
Limited ONLY by what we sculpt from it,
What we envision and forge and spin to shapes
Upon imagination's wheel.
The forecast?
Widely scattered conceptions,
Hope and possibility on the horizon,
With a steady downpour of potentiality!
One hundred percent chance ...
Of life as we make it,
And dreams ...
As imagined.
Submitted on February 6, 2020
To the "Strand Select F Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Sponsor.
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