On Thorns I Lay Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

Awake this morning at ten to five
with my hair unbraided, flowing soft,
when the world as yet was unalive
and a frosted chill traversed the loft,
I cuddled up in the lamplight glow
with my knees nestled beneath my chin
and embraced such thoughts as none would know
unless they were born beneath my skin.

The silence bled into deepest dark
into a quiet soliloquy
into thoughts of you, a question mark,
and a self-effacing colloquy.
The years are passerine with feathers,
perching quietly within the soul,
and spread their wings to test the tethers
seeking to fly as a banderole.

The first faint fingers of morning light
unlatched a bounty of golden thread
and painted the walls both soft and bright
and warmed the heart of an empty bed.
With sleepy eyes and a dream distilled,
I dispersed roses into the day
whose petals rained red as dreams fulfilled
while on a divan of thorns I lay.