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T'morning

by George Hoerner

t'morning never comes

except in dreams

of never more

where kings play gods

and the muse

sits silently by

waiting for a writing instrument

filled with words never heard

watching as they whirl

through the air

like tissue paper

cast round about

till you pay the price

and this blush of being

continues looking for words

to catch this fleeting phenonmenon

05/19/2004

Posted on 03/19/2008
Copyright © 2024 George Hoerner

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/26/09 at 07:43 PM

The figure made by your centered poem looks a bit like an angel. Angel, muse, equally etherial brushing up against and entering the poet almost unnoticed. Thanks for listening, pausing enough to allow it to enter "this blush of being." Quite a lovely poem indeed, George. Thanks.

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