The Morn Poem by Robert Sheridan

The Morn



The morn – no longer blackened
Un-grieved – a new child from within
The virgin of youth awakens again
The child shows anew, a new way the morn;
No foe outstretched before me
The morn dissipates all despair –
Brings forth a new life as it bids farewell to death
It arrives on the wings of a new age;
On the surface of the morn’s feathers
A canvas never painted with the same theme
Once brushed with gray paint, now the serene
Banishes the depiction of interferences as a scythe;
No more harsh sounds beside me –
The scythe cuts their harsh whisperings
Now nothing stands for the scythe to mow
Praises my worth as a new person, banishes the cruel hand;
At the morn, a new dawn –no longer am I withdrawn
A lust for dawn’s light to light the way – perpetually driven
Stage by stage, mile after mile – I will not stumble
The morn has given me strength – the fog has lifted.

'2007'

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