Summer
Morning’s broken light:
And who was saved again
Last night?
‘Twas me, I think,
Although in pain
Of conscience, portal,
Heart, and brain —
We ran the mortal
Curtain down:
We sang our songs,
And made our toasts
With golden glasses
Lifted high
For these, our most
Beloved ghosts –
The taking in
That locks me out,
The taking on
That bids me leave
When only silence
Holds the truth
Of what it is to live
And grieve —
But summer
With its teeming voice
Of frog, fly, and
Cicada choir
Reminds me now:
I have a choice —
Between the dark
Or something
Higher
Beautifully crafted…!… How one surrenders to such coincidences as my current mood is no less than you have portrayed here…… Thank you for sharing….!..
Beautiful it is!
And this is I can hum on repeat for the rest of my day…
“But summer
With its teeming voice
Of frog, fly, and
Cicada choir
Reminds me now:
I have a choice —
Between the dark
Or something
Higher”
Loved the note on which you closed the poem! 🙂