Cease

When no light pierces my brain,
  and the sun makes no dint
  in the clouds and mist of dawn,
  nor throughout the day breaks
  any of the rays of ecstasy -
O how much then I yearn
  for the fading twilight once seen,
  the end of a long gone day
  whose golden dawn was a lamp
  within my soul -
O how I miss that mythic turn,
  the tender grasp on things.
It was like an intricate flower:
  strong yet fragile,
  meant for seeing
  not for plucking.
So my mind ceased for an hour
  to pluck the flower,
  and let the tide of being
  wash up and down the shore -
But then I flinched, the horror!
  it all rushed away
  lost for another day.

Featured image: ‘Twilight’ by Elliot Daingerfield, image in the public domain.

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