Book By Its Cover

I may not be too much to see
Physically. Not the fittest, not the
Wittiest. Hardly the prettiest. But

Inside
I’m alive in ways you cannot
Comprehend. In the end, that’s where
The heart is.

 

Heaven on Earth

Slumbering farm.
Old, rickety barn harboring
Comatose cows. Freshly plowed, the smell of dirt
Almost hurts when it hits the nostrils.
Golden field at full yield: wheat, corn,
Barley, so high, so hardy, and yet so
Fragile; so prone to death, yet vital as
Breath is to life. First light; cock crowing,
Shattering silence. Everything
Growing, swaying in stillness. And
Up in the farmhouse, the rustle of bedclothes and
Clang of the skillet announce the tidings:
A new day! Let us
Fill it.

Rebirth

What’s in a sunrise?
Fireflies and
Second tries? Another chance
To dance? Romance illuminated; faces
Rejuvenated, intoxicated with
Daylight spirits decanted by dawn. No longer
A pawn of darkness and death, new breath invades
The breast. Done with rest; time to
Play, to welcome the day with
Cartwheels and backflips, to kiss away the night
With lips of golden fire, funeral pyre
Of all that is past. Newness awaits.