Dawn crosses the threshold, praying.
Palm trees, arms wide, swaying.
Silhouettes of shorebirds
Gulls are but
Before horizons grace.
Wafting fog alternates, lattice to lace.
In homes huddled close by the bay
It is the time of rising, stirring honey into tea.
Soul nourishment with gratitude received,
Sourced through sunlit fingers of palm tree leaves.
Now to the edge of the hill a golden orb is drawn.
Soft stillness hums the tune of dawn.
Is there a voice or voices singing?
Yes, in jubilant praise of the Most High Being!
Attracted to this realm of light,
wide-eyed novitiates admire
The wizened energy
who softly strokes golds and peaches
beneath the rose-kissed billows.
With tender skill the Ancient Ones
can identify us all;
where we have been,
where we are going.
Colors flutter through as
Angelic whispers of
Through glare of day
Make certain time is flowing
On toward the end
In contentment we sigh
And sense changes,
like birds when evening is nigh.
As was the dawn, darkness too,
is a strange friend;
come to ease,
yet not to end,
but to set the stage
for a new tomorrow.
Ah ‘tis dusk and homeward we must,
but not in sorrow.
In this unique moment one could say,
We spent a day, in the house of God.
From my 1st book- Poetry of Days- a journal of poetry, love, and inspiration!