Dawn
copyright ©1995 by Stephen Craig
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I sit,
still and silent as the hill
that holds me gently in its arms,
considering once again
the wisdom of a long forgotten friend.
The strong open wind
draws close within the soul of the land.
It's soft even breath
calms my troubled soul.
And standing far against the distant sky
the air moves in a manner all its own,
and my thoughts drift with it,
abandoning their own passage
to its silent fate.
And the time, being accomplished,
ends in the manner of another far off dream,
ready to touch the soul
of another soft beginning.
The Sun ascends
from the rubble of the dark horizon,
breathing new life
to the mists drifting silently,
dissolving the ruins of the other time.
Below me,
the river turns slowly through its history,
as if it were forever asleep and unaware.
But the hills rise up to meet the dawn,
unfolding from their sleep
beneath the warmth
of the precious new Sun.
Our Sun ascends anew,
giving its warmth to my cold face,
now turned fully to face the dawn.
My eyes are open once again
to guide my fingers in their passage,
as I strive to touch the gentle features
of that we would call truth.
There is wisdom here,
if we could only touch it.
But the only touching here
is our souls
touching both the earth and sky.
Perhaps that is wisdom,
or where wisdom is to be found.
For only there the distant line
becomes the shores of the Sun,
marking our endless passage
into destiny.