The morning after I awoke,
to a whole new scheme,
like in a dream that ended.
A whole new place,
a whole new space,
like a plan unattended.
Upside down, turned around,
nothing seemed in place.
Nothing left for the race.
"This is for you." It said.
Looking around, might be dead.
It was a blank slate.
Not to my taste, this plate.
So from the tree of knowledge I ate.
Hoping it wouldn't be too late.
I cannot draw her face,
I cannot draw this place,
it's impossible to draw forever.
The morning after left an aftertaste.
Alas, I can't erase.
So I am starting over.
David J. Nightingale
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the
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Copyright
2009 © Ronald W. Hull
1/3/09