Votive Mournings Poem by Smoky Hoss

The melancholy comes most in the morning.
The sleeping dog lies by the bed
Upon the lowly floor
Menaced by nothing in particular.
The vague fear, rising slow like the sun,
Of something lacking.
A self, suffering soulless.
A tree with no song birds
Standing lonely in the meadow,
Long limbs reaching for a friend,
A lover.
Living is the real story
Behind the life visible,
Always acting upon its own stage.
The mornings are only ordinary
Except for twice, the rising
Of sun and melancholy.
One a rhapsody, one routine.
Who can decipher the difference?
A mysterious movement balanced by
Incalculable indifference. -
On the lowly floor the dog ponders
The answer in a dream,
As it rises with the sun
Above the normal ness of earth below.
The true song of soul
Hangs in the balance of love
Found in a dogs dream,
And in longing like trees reaching
For the warmth of a new days brilliant brightness,
Shinning hope
Into lonely hearts.