Autumn Writer
© Copyright 2012
A wind is blowing soft upon the plain
in early hours that wait the break of day.
Grasses bend and shake their heads
at meager light that turns their blades to gray.
The morning air is chilling and I yearn
For the warm abode from where I came.
In the east appears a tepid glow
where the earth turns under the horizon.
It is the promise of the morning sun to be:
the burning star that lights the day
and warms the hearts of they who yearn upon the plain.
The time to bright the endless sky is near.
I strain to read my watch in the predawn light.
The darkened face has no words for me.
It is old and chafes my skin upon which it lies;
my fingers caress the aging leather band.
Last night, I took it from my father’s trembling hand
as he lay dying.
O, father, before you leave this life, divulge to me
why I treasure this old watch of yours, yet hate it so.
It will bind around my wrist as I stand upon this windy plain.
Tell me why I crave your blood and sweat so close to mine.
Your silence robs me of my comfort, and I must confess
that many were the days when I did not love you.
As these questions of a child ramble through my soul
the star of dawn appears in consuming flash of light.
It speeds a laser-ray that strikes the faded dial
where truth of time commands my averted eyes.
It points my way as day rises high above the plain.
I see him ascend the brilliant beam in the endless sky.
