Good morning everyone.
Odd the things a mind turns to in the empty hours.
Twixt Dusk and Dawn
Soft the subtle turnings of a tired mind
here in the long and oh so lonely hours
between each dusk and its dawn
trapped by the odd turning and twisting
and deceptive deep flow of hidden thoughts
often alone in those somber halls within
On what do we our shaky reality pin
as we wait to see what fate casts as our lot
struggling to see through the misting
of memories we might wish to pawn
or cast unremembered into ancient towers
afraid of what we’re all too likely to find
Of this poets are born, shedding all that binds
reflecting on some horizon or warm red bowers
building images from mental timber scarcely sawn
using structure to keep them from a sudden listing
until dawn drives us worn to our restless cots
disturbed only by the alarm clocks unholy din
Beautiful poem, thank you.
Twixt Dusk and Dawn
Oh, this poem is wonderful, depicting so vividly the inner working of a poet's soul and mind, setting and tempering the fire of writing -from the heart and soul -the
very private life of a poet.