Barely Awake
terry roberts 9.8.2000
At last the morning
of my mourning
perhaps the sun will rise someday
and the moon will shed its shadows
The chrysalis will burst with
butterfly, it will rain so brown
turns green new grass
hardness softens, ice to water
When emotion finally attaches
to memory and rage understands
its history, grief knows meaning
ire finds its mother
anger knows its true place
where there is neither room
nor reason to know ones loved
where the line was drawn
Pasts, which intruded on presents
becoming unbecoming at last
awakening to the moment just to
be here for the sunrise
Faith transformed to hope
the holdings relinquished
out of manure thank god
noticing a flower, a beautiful flower
such a beautiful flower
ferdinand the bull
may yet be able
to go home to his pasture
