The dust of day's detritus grays the room
as if the ashes of Pompeii
have blurred the atmosphere and smudged the gloom,
grinding the light away.
The morning, though, like tractor beams,
will pull the corners of the night
to smooth the angles of the shadow-seams
that split, allowing light
to permeate the dull of nothingness
with something brighter, and complete:
a sword of sharper color to address
a previous defeat.
Brilliant poem David, I love the thought of tractor beams, that is unusual but a wonderful explanation. Enjoyed all of it, a real pleasure to find this one. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you for a poem with wonderful atmosphere it is a pleasure to read and I will add it to the list of those I save to treasure again.