Poetry: Morning - by Dolores Moore

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by Dolores Moore

Created on: August 24, 2008

NEW DAY'S FORGIVENESS

After what took place in the late,
Last hours of night, it is morning I fear.
Then that haunting dread will rear
Up and strangle any joy of newborn day.

Not for me, the sun's golden gifts,
The lightened sky, the singing lark.
What I am now belongs to the dark
Hours; they are all that I have left.

Too many words, like cruel cuts and blows,
Smote both hearts to breaking point.
Harsh light of morning calls me to account
For my unforgiving sin, and yours.

Yet each new morning brings hopes
Of redemption. Chances to make amends,
Like shy smiles, appear. The offer to be friends -
At least. A new day drives the darkness out.

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Poetry: Morning

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Tired, lovely eyes, clutching and gripping
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Blue burns as orange and slowly she rises
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