Windows

By



By Stephen Cheney

                                                              A candle in the window,
                                                              orange on black;
                                                              teachings of a soul, given to stars;
                                                              Tear'd flame, mirroring life.

                                                              Cool night-scent of Earth,
                                                              crowds against my body;
                                                              as I, as if fallen from reach,
                                                              wonder at sources of Before.

                                                              The smell of promise
                                                              a promise of tomorrows;
                                                              a covering for aching bones,
                                                              as this night gloves the eyes.

                                                              Dew drops on grass blades,
                                                              Silver on green;
                                                              teachings of stars, given to the Soul;
                                                              Flames of life, mirrored in tears.



Image: Windows (Palazzo Medici) - Buonarroti Michelangelo 

Comments

  1. Ana AntunesNovember 21, 2014 at 8:46 AM

    I can tell this poem talks about sadness and longing, yet hope is there. Think we've all been in this situation of despair, of not knowing what to do, missing someone like hell, depression whatever and yet life tells us 'psiuuu, I'm here, take me!'
    Very beautiful, Stephen.

    ReplyDelete
  2. RummuserNovember 21, 2014 at 5:06 PM

    I like it.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Cristina Caravaggio GiancchiniNovember 23, 2014 at 7:28 AM

    I like the end of the first and the last verses, a perfect antithesis. In the beginning, closed to life, open to pain; in the end open to life, a subsiding pain.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Max CoutinhoNovember 23, 2014 at 1:59 PM

    Truly a beautiful poem, Stephen.

    "Cool night-scent of Earth, crowds against my body; as I, as if fallen from reach, wonder at sources of Before."

    Death and re-birth - that's what this part evoked in me.

    Cheers

    ReplyDelete
  5. Michael PereiraDecember 2, 2014 at 1:47 PM

    Dude, you can write.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment