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my life is time
by Charlie Morgandarting Swifts high above
were part of the disguise
of the day's closing;
there would be one more cycle
of the breezy day it had been;
afternoon's door was closing.
my pool, now empty of laughter,
earlier a cacophony of humour, glee;
again stands stoic, a master of glib.
all the trees are bent inquisitively.
scratching their boughs, shrugging.
scratching at the wind for blowing.
i light up in order to lighten-up;
finally, i hear my favorite cicada.
it's a young one. he's lonesome too.
if i could find him, i'd bet him;
i could cry a more mournful song.
he wants a mate; me, only youth.
06/27/2010 Posted on 06/27/2010
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Therese Elaine on 06/28/10 at 12:07 AM The cycle of light, to dusk, to twilight to darkest night, of spring to summer to autumn to winter -the change from carefree laughter to careful contemplation...this is a beautiful still-shot capture of a changing of the guard, the passions of youth into the yearning for youth. |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 06/28/10 at 01:45 AM Well, Chaz, I really can't add much in the way of commenting after Therese's. She said it better than I could have. so... ditto to what she said. I would love a long night's worth of his yearning and a couple more decades of yours. |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 06/29/10 at 09:14 PM If I had the chance to go back; I probably would change a few things. But youth is wated on the young! Bein g young is, in a lot a ways HARDER now than it was before. |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/01/10 at 05:29 PM Sweet Mother of Pearl, Charlie! How on God's green earth do you do it? You keep making these pearls, tossing them to us as if we could actually catch them. But you are never to be caught, just breathed in through the spiral pen upon these pages. Stanzas 4 and 5 almost took away my breath. Waiting with smiling anticipation for your next one... |
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