Tuesday, April 9, 2019

A Poem, at Evening



There is a sky
above. The world below
still spins and tilts
and man will suffer
hunger
clamor
strive.

The rose of evening
blooms above the leaves.
Gold-caped clouds
stream pink air
under the trees.

The peace above defeats
the hearts below.
The rage of life cease into
solemn breath.
Bathed by beauty
in the evening hour