"At the Going Down of the Sun"

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sat, 31 Oct 2015
  • 2858 reads
6 comments
 
“As the stars that shall be bright
when we are dust, moving 
in marches upon the heavenly plain,
as the stars that are starry in the time
of our darkness, to the end,
they remain.” L. Binyon (1869-1943)
‘For the Fallen’
 
I had come to the borders of sleep...
In my head, I walked to the window –
gazed at far-off worlds, with other suns,
other moons...other people, just like me;
if it’s true our universe is infinite
as some would believe.
 
I had come to the borders of sleep...
‘Sleep,’ they begged me...and if I did,
maybe to dream of a galaxy – aeons
away, and witness its demise; see it
implode, to become nothing more,
nor less, than a snowflake falling
on a frozen pond.
 
I had come to the borders of sleep,
and heard black-stockinged footsteps
padding through my mind...on down
that road to nowhere...another’s hand
reaching out for mine – raised me
from my bed over to the window...
 
serried ranks of streetlamps stutter,
and so die, saw the morning star
tug, with all its little shimmerings,
at nights such as this, when truth
heals wounds and the sun coming up
outshines the light of who we thought, 
once, we had to be.
Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by loquaciousicity on

Celestial darkness...

the blackest sugar specked blackness of all... of all ... of all...

Stunning imagery!!!

Terry

 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Pleased you thought so, Terry. Hope you have a peaceful Sunday.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

This has an ethereal quality, Tina. You almost have to be brave, having come to the borders of sleep, to step over the boundary, knowing the infinite possibilities. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Infinite possibilities, indeed, Bee.

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

 

A dreamy poem, at the edge of sleep standing and fantasizing about other worlds.

Loved the lines:-

Serried ranks of street lamps stutter,

and so die, saw the morning star

tug, with all its shimmerings,

at night such as this, when truth

heals wounds and the sun coming up

out shines the light of who we thought,

once, we had to be.

Thought this stanza had a Shakespeare quality about it, even with the use of more  up to date words, like street lamps.

Very much enjoyed and one of your best Tina.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

It means so very much to me, Jenny, that you liked this piece so much.  Thank you for telling me in such depth.

Tinasmiley