'My Dissertation to Dawn' Options

[Surpass-A]

‘My Dissertation to Dawn’

I.

I never dreamt the world was round,
for I can see it beneath the inevitable break;
‘the people’s earth’, or so its called

and its waiting... waiting on you.

I watch as the light becomes
etched before my pupils, almost as if
I were a bird feeding my forbidable flight
with the morning stare.

Thinking of the lives in which man has stole;
before me I catch a glimsp of a single leaf
swaying gently within the take of the breeze.

The veins twinkle elegantly within its texture
as it absorbs the last appetite for rain
... such a peaceful existence it seems,
yet beautiful within its reign;
softly tailing the eye of the Mother oak
till it nestles willingly beneath such feet.

In the night of this feeling;
the appearingly alveolate tree begins to weave
its arms in agitation, as if resisting the independance
of its own child and the break of nature’s worthy cycle

and I begin to contemplate...

If every bud upon the severed bark
had felt for its last, would it then strive to
the fullest, or rather just figure and wilt?

See, I, like the lonely leaf, know the meaning
of this tree... for prior to Spring, the eve of death,
such would yield its passion in hope to survive
its troubled time
and if one should shudder and fall then
he would not be seen; for vast miles
are his brothers of stronger, younger arm.

The tree seemingly begins to wail in spite of this,
tap, tap tapping at the glare of my heightened window...

and furthermore, for every Dot of the‘I’
or cross of the‘T’ I can see the bark
beginning to tingle evermore with an element of fear,
almost as if I am delaying the inevitable dawn
beneath the ‘reign’ of my own intriguing fingertips.

Is this the true meaning of destiny?
for upon this moment I would willingly
offer my hand to any love neglected
by the visage of heartless gluttony.

The leaf will be brown in a day or two,
but for death or a new life?

I am curious; who else upon this earth
would contrast such a minute piece to its plenary existence?

Pressing my nose upon the glass
to catch the curiousity of the leaf
wandering in its freedom;
I note my concern and hope
that its wings will not crumble in the wind.

Only a hope, for the day is due,
I can see its face seeping before
the haze of the clouds.

My eyes begin to tire feeling
the weight of the sun
and I know the words
upon this moment are becoming my last.

So I ponder upon time;
who can break the cycle of nature?

One can only wonder.




II.

A dawn each to their own.

We as poets are the thinkers of art,
the dreamers and the designers

and I, as one, ‘a nocturnal equanimity’
in such, that the sparks of my motherless
quill aim to picture a lonely sky.

I clutch to every thought,
for I am the epinasty valuing every bud
in earnest from the motives of the tree.

I long to press my lips upon a single leaf
and pledge to my faith that stars will be born,
in stages, before me...
and before us.

I believe in a world where the passion
is of the hearts living for their souls,

we were made as man, woman and dew

and as I watch the high world rise
once again and speak of my growth,
behold the fashion of the oak tree
and its inevitable fall...
soon to disappear before the eyes of the world.

My friends, walk this life
how dreams perceive you should,
you must believe… as I believe;
that tomorrow truly is a new day.

But in your journey be sure to rest
as dreamers often do…

and as I must do...

the eye of the world gazes upon me,
preaching in its devoted Sunday stare
for my own vision to become impaired.

To sleep now is my devoir,

though, in vow, only for a moment …

until my own day is ‘due’.





© Surpass-A