stabbed me wide awake and took me on a boat ride across the wide and sparkling lake of a bright new, brand new day,but
I can’t forget of what yet will come,
with its smoking gun, so full of doom
which will play me on a hurdy gurdy dancing to the waning moon,
and of the two I much prefer,
the gentleness of morning air,the touch of freshness on my skin,the will that wills me to begin and start again.
It is strange that as the world moves on, the mountains never seem to change,
rivers always spill towards the sea,like me they know which way to go and flow.
the promises which pull us on to new endeavours,to reach new heights and scale those mountains of our nights.
the gun sight’s aimed
the smoking gun cannot be tamed,it’s in us all and everywhere.
I share these thoughts with you as morning struggles through and grabs my arm
to charm and take me
douse me in the lake and make me see
The beauty of what day can be.
copyright © John Smallshaw all rights reserved