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Morning Star
by Dane CampbellFusible,
I am soldered
into the frozen,
smoldering grip
of insomnia.
With the burning hunger
of an ember,
I want
for slumber,
that wakeful photograph
I cannot enter.
Deadening, I watch
absolute black
pang at windows.
The rural sky
begins to drip.
Etched from unseen depths,
edged in cobalt,
drowned trees resurrect,
swarm the scene,
a hoard of silhouettes,
the bone-white moon’s
grim grin has gone
in the ghostly hours
before the dawn.
Shunned,
alone, unhidden
as the herd
of others moves
ostracizing
suddenly along,
false-named,
morning star,
solitary tear,
bright silver wound,
searing
brother to none,
cauterized to a scar,
soldered into the smoldering, frozen grip
of execution
always rising,
always the sun.
05/06/2014 Posted on 05/06/2014
Copyright © 2024 Dane Campbell
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 05/06/14 at 12:35 PM *****STELLAR***** |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/08/14 at 03:08 PM Elegant and vivid. I was writing about my sleepless nights just yesterday, but this is so much more. A pleasure to read. Loved it all, but especially that "bright silver wound."
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