Prayer Mornings

These words are for the morning.
Quickly fleeting. Almost gone.
And this line is welcome for the sun.
Welcome, to your own inspired realm.
God, you have done it now.

Burning, manipulating, brightness invested,
inspiring the delicate overlapping folds of rosy reds,
too many arms and white legs off daisies
thrown out in attractive upheaval,
the very green coat of grass wrapped tight
around the shoulders of warm fields,
tenderly torn by grazing jaws,
tongues rolled,
laid over teeth.

God, it is done.
Over. By the end of morning.
Your righteously spiteful muse of a sun,
like a flag, flung soaring oppressively overhead.
Truth. Reality. True enough to descend
and touch my skin.
Already turning red.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s