Saturday, October 1, 2011

the night sky's history

This poet went packing in
thin-souled shoes
looking for mere fair news,
frightened tigers
as if reading
were knowing.

Hence fled this skinned lamb
meant for The Lion’s hand.
Gone, his color,
long paled;
failed his own Hailed Mother.

Whence spring crisp hopes
like children skipping ropes?
Yet laugh as starlight
delights wide eyes
and bid goodbye to past sighs
for the night sky’s history
and the pregnant sunrise is
tomorrow freed.

the night sky's history
by troy cady

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