One of the first poems I ever wrote but never shared with anyone. |
Out a window, down some steps, over the giant wall, lay a village neither great nor small. Its people sleep, trapped in the sand man's bind, dreaming dreams that are neither harsh nor kind. The cattle silent, the herds asleep, the sky goes unkissed by the sun on head nor cheek. Gently, the sun does creep, peeking out, from hidden hold, to wake the sky from sleep. A rooster crow, sounding off to the sky, awakens the village from slumber, man, woman, and child. Life restored, to this peaceful town, a breath, so big, a person could drown. Everyone greets everyone else as the town starts to live, nothing seems to be amiss, and there have been no tragedies to fix. This peaceful town, gets more energetic by the hour, starts to become more vibrant, as the day grows old, and the whispers of wind sing of ages now told. The day has all but grown, only twice its age and then some, while still this village will be able to ever last every step untold. Old age finally comes and captures the sun forcing it back into its hidden hold for another run. The village returns into sleep without resistance as the moon does rise and sings its lullaby to the countryside as it's absorbed in silence. |