Thinking of the sun
And thinking on the run
Its a silent whistle
That stops your dog
Fear stops me.
Sleeping under stars
Turning on the sedge
A lone thistle rides
Up your back
The old lives wont come back
From the sunshine.
The twilight eyes
Pupils bulge
Looking for life
In the semi-dark
A glint of sun
And the mornings run
Dark and gold become
One another.
Again an awakening.
Tom Gibo
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mundane-repetitions/
