Each Hour Of Mine Is Dark Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Each hour of mine is dark
Like wintry times out there
Where shadows come to spark
In flickering dance everywhere

My petal against the cold
Of how I long to go and rise
I cannot inside my center hold
For time’s a while that onward flies

I see the morning in its glow
And many pages still writing
Half open book in paging slow
In the knowledge of its lighting

The converge of the days ahead
Are detailed in their happiness
And what life from page shall read
Is not coincident or sappiness

Like bud that opens to the wind
Half deep inside and amazed
My urgent mood is disciplined
In heart’s tenderness and graced

Some words are never fully read
On many pages though detailed
But stunned in ideas in my head
Of its vital that never failed