Breath of Morning

 

 

The day before the sun came,

I made a fresh breath of knowing.

 

The cooled fiery jewels of a time long lost,

facing the odds against us and arising reborn triumphant.

 

A feather trickles silently amongst forevers,

a squark a chime and yawp in the bellows before us.

 

Remnants reassembled in beatific heart-racing timelessness,

the drip drip drop along the hardened soft branchy lofts.

 

Slowly beckoning up the bright timid new day,

and conducting of the stars to calm their charges.

 

A damp heavy cloak thrown over my shoulders,

leads me back to the camp of my own kind.

 

Lend me a single hand or mouthful,

before morning’s jaws release me.

 

And let the shadowy sorrow of night,

gently fall and be gone.

 

Greg Fiddament
Illustration Nick Victor

 


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