The Dark Before the Dawn

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 25 Oct 2015
  • 869 reads
3 comments
 
Hand to chest...that pain, 
again.
 
He will not sleep tonight;
he knows – sure as his dog, 
that logs his every step,
real soon, a storm will come,
 
as below a frowning sky –
falls to his knees to the cries
of Love-in-the Mist
in a stranglehold of ivy.
 
Without him, he is certain
this garden he calls his own
these beloved trees, birds,
plants, all that grows, sings
and breathes would not survive, 
 
likewise, the fields, the copse,
the moor, his territory, would lose
their reason to stay green,
and his birds – the robin, jay
and thrush, their will to sing.
 
Never would he quit this place...
this land he’d planted, dug –
cherished from a lad, coursed
through his veins. 
 
His roots ran deep, and yet, 
if he had to go, he would
exhume them, absolutely; 
even so, dreading...the dark 
before the dawn.
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Nature
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

It seems to picture a love what he has worked with, laboured for, and yet a knowing he must leave it? For to me the last lines (and title) seemed to imply a dread of death itself (crossing the river?) before an expected better hereafter? Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

You gleaned from this, Rhiannon, exactly as I had hoped.  Your words, pictorial, and far-reaching.  Thank  you.

Tina

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Well, what a lovely surprise, Nathansmiley  Wonderful to hear from you.  I think of you, often.

So very pleased you enjoyed this poem, and took the trouble to tell me so eloquently, as ever.

Things are fine with me, as I hope they are with you, likewisesmiley

Tina