Superior Scene - Poem by Jordon DeGroote
The clouds’ display of dark dismay
fades away as night trails behind day.
The morning sun has easily won,
and so all is done,
and the spoils of war,
less or more,
is the infinite sky’s open door.
I look down from my scene of peace,
and I spy turbulence, not ease.
The winds that accompany the waves bring chill,
but the waves, themselves, shape the rocks with artisan skill.
And they fall with complete free will,
landing wherever, whenever, but never
in a rare spot that doesn’t express majesty.
Ah! The heavenly door cracks
As the light blue replaces black
in the residual wisp of darkness.
And the waves shimmer and gleam
now that their lifelong dream
has been fulfilled to have the sun beam.
The trees lean towards the sun
as if they receive none
and the leaves always basking and never being done.
The wind tickles the branches, then pinches
And the tree flinches as the trunk slowly inches
Towards the sky. But why
Must it be the sun they hog?
Because recently they have only been fed fog
And now they are quite gaunt
For their hunger shall haunt
Them until they are flooded with sun.
The light evens out
as the once loud pout
of darkness fades into the waves.
The trees stay firmly angled to the light,
jubilant to escape the night.
The waves now sport the jewelry of the sun
As if they won
the battle for the sky themselves.
And all is well,
For there is no longer a faded memory of hell,
And the birds beckon for me to come back tomorrow.
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