The sky was shot with grays and greens,
and clinging clouds that hung low;
from the west, the wind was slight
against my face that April night
when first
I found I’d lost my way;
and more, what’s worse,
with nothing left to say:
a writer’s sad curse.
I stood in silence, stunned and mute
and watched the world continue on;
Despite my dumbness, nothing changed
in how life lumbers slowly on
and stops
for no one, rich or poor;
both thieves and cops
react, and nothing more,
as each moment drops.
For quite a while, I watched and waited,
’til the lights lowered and dawn was near,
as the darkened earth began to glow
with the soft shimmer of newborn day
and awoke
stretching its tired limbs,
the spell of gloom broken
by a small bird’s hymn.
And only then, I spoke.
06 APR 2004
