Ken's Poetry

Awakening

Dawn bleeds on brainfold drapes,
through crimson lids the night escapes
and morning breaks inside her ears,
the brazen birds, the whiz of gears.
Dreams that stalked the short black night
have seen the sun and taken flight,
like stitches down the counterpane
old fears slip silken down the drain.
Her breath sighs on another day
limbs stretch slumber’s numbs away,
curled like a cat the waiting hours
prize back the petals of the flowers,
the shell breaks, and her daily birth,
clocks the sun around the earth.

Across the bed’s cold other side
her hand trots down its ritual ride
and fingers prance imprinted space
ghosted with his absent face,
and down that valley where he laid
rears her heart in feathered glade
touching afresh each day the pain.
He’ll never never come again.

The unwelcome sun drags day across
the empty darkness of her loss.