Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Oct 3, 2009 at 00:58 o\clock

Morning

A morning
like any other.
The cool light
impassive, but without
the old brusqueness.
The day has shed
its thorns, since the night
was gentle and dark,
since a gesture
defeated the words
and warmth could flow unhampered, in long
waves of release, since
peace - for years a fugitive -
allowed itself to be found at last
blindfold.

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