Sunday, March 22, 2009

Poetry: Tempest

The day began
With a single shaft of gold
Streaming through the window
That woke me from
An arcane dream
Filled me with an
Abiding grace
But a storm was gathering
Swept in with fierce winds
A Shakespearian Tempest
That flowed
From the Bard's pen
With ink the blackness of night
Still it batters
The roof, the shutters, the door
And I, I shall draw on my coat
Venture into it
Soon enough, soon enough
At the risk of being
The storm, I have been
This cold wind that sears
Through my heart
Chills the blood within me
But I have also been
That morning shaft of golden light
Which I am by the
End of the Tempest

Sent from my iPhone

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