John DeBona


Biography of John DeBona

John DeBona poet

Torn, weathered and bruised.
Like William Blake, painting and poetry.

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Moonflowers

The first rays of the morning sun illuminate the horizon,
life begins to stir.
Birds begin to chirp, and the moonflowers gently close.
Dew on the grass glistens as tiny droplets, and if you look at them right
you just might see the colors of the rainbow.
As I slowly move under the warmth of my covers, halfway in dream state,
I smell your scent, and only for a moment you are here.
I wake alone.
Time to move, get up and get that first cup of Joe.

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