MORNING HAS BROKEN

A day glow smothered by the sentient night

These cold mornings of twilight

Waves of silence ripple and defeat

Those moors besieged by tides of mist.

Their magenta sheen utterly lost

Drooping paths of withered heather

Surround black rocks the ruins of gone days

History inscribed in walls of broken stone.

The sky shadowed over vast spaces

When a sudden flash of lightning and thunder

Drops marble rain falling with crystals of sleet

A blazing bronze flame of dying winter heat.

Haunted days with vivid horizons

Solid sculptures of the Brontes’ open books

Lie revealing their enduring passion for life

Gospels of fire, in arrows of burning desire.

I walk alone over the lush meadows

These lucid paths unchanged for centuries

A lapwing balances between currents of air

When a freezing wind blew me here and there.

My mind trapped in a broken morning

As I scanned a day in the tropical East

Green forests and peacocks dancing in the sun

Ripening rice fields and my abandoned home.

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