Twilight

He descends to bed in parts, windblown weary,
And dreams of daybreak coffee with the sea,

At dawn his aching legs take him there
Where the winter waves wash the ice air.

His eyes are fulvous and his back spine-curled
As he joys uplid at the lightening world.

But even so, with mug-warm hands apart
To embrace the day, he gathers in the dark.

Reviews

[SkinlessFrank]

I see the the end coming too. It's both warming and frightening, but full of mystery.

[Verser]

Yes, Yes indeed. That's it for sure.

[Tree]

Every word given careful consideration, something, I still struggle with. I enjoyed how you give the reader a glimpse into the mind and soul of the weary traveler, and the ache and pain of all those accumulated miles; told in a gentle, and almost loving way. And that last verse just fell on me, like a snow drift.

Nice work, Carl.

[Verser]

Thanks so much for your kind comments. It is much appreciated. I suppose you know that I really look forward to receiving some poems from you. We miss you on VerseWrights! Best to you as always.--Carl

[John]

Joy is cancelled by pain and the light by darkness. There is no easy resolution. Such is life. We live in a gray zone, neither black nor white. Some original collocations really life this poem: windblown wear, mug-warm hands.

[Verser]

You nailed it, and you are truly appreciated for your perception and your nice words.

[MOON]

Lovely write , love the title.

[Verser]

Thanks, MOON. I actually changed the title this morning to "Twilight." I kind of liked the idea that it is in the poem only metaphorically.

I appreciate the feedback!

[LA Lorena]

I love that line, "mug-warm hands", it's perfect! Good to see you here too!

[Verser]

LA--Thanks for both comments.