Morning
It's a tricky place,
the morning of each race,
steady and cold in its haste.
The working career seeking years
were so full of hurried rushing fears
barely found time amidst the shouts and cheers.
These latter years are so welcomed
with hurry and worry making entry seldom,
longer, slower, methodical escaping that bedlam,
The mornings arrive with greeted anticipation
and aches and pains of age lessen the hesitation
to rise to sun, sky and clouds with focused meditation.
A cup of coffee, a piece of toast,
a chair positioned at my command post,
while in shadows walks reflections of your ghost.
I am pleased to take in the morning masterpiece
from time once constrained, now freed at peace
and in this solitude of aged years, I am released.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
