Serenading the Sun

Not for me the sunset,
the pretty ending all calm and still.
the stuff of post cards
and swelling music at the end of the movie.

I will grasp for every last glimpse of light,
I will burn candles, bonfires,
burn logs, limbs, furniture even,
sing love songs late into the night
like a man possessed

I will write lurid poetry
and paint it on the side of buildings and hearts,
I will serenade the sun with love songs
until it can bear it no longer

And returns with the tender kiss of dawn.

About this poem

Every day is a battle. Stupid me thinks it’s worth the fight, that the brief moments of joy are what matters, not the night.

I was reminded of that this morning as I sat at my window this morning, doing my devotions and watched the sunlight break over the quarry.

Last night my son was next door, where they had a bonfire, burning among other things, an old sofa and other bits of broken furniture

The picture was taken near Salem. New York. It’s a dawn, not a sunset.

Poems come from the weirdest places

Tom