New Poem - An old view seen anew...

An old view

Seen anew.

Lost

In morning perfection,

The illusion

Peacefulness

Improves everything,

When fervour’s a resource

Used all too sparingly

And there’s

So much wonder

Out there

To even ruffle the surface of.

How often

Do we turn away though?

Timid, as we are.

And without such sparks

Time can pass by,

Like an empty whisper,

Meaningless and negligent.

Till, all at once,

There you have it,

Pulsing within you,

The day of days!

Whatever else

Might come your way,

This you will always know.

Never rewarded thus

Unless you sing so.