Morning Dream
Mik Namlieh
In the grayness of the morning, you shall see their amber eyes
Mocking those in frozen mourning, with their glowing eyes so bright,
Moving like the crawling creatures, 'pon legs that turn and never rise,
Becoming real among the features, mundane in daytime's yellow light,
Disgorging from their mouths the treasures, each worth more than pounds of gold,
Stopping, moving, at their pleasure, in a straight and glowing line,
The stars above the night are dreaming, unaware of mud or cold
Despite the restless feet and screaming, are secretive and pure, sublime.
Phantoms raise misshapen heads from the ditch below the road,
The sun is wary, bloody red and gives the rising mist a glow
Gentle fingers touch the grasses, longing for an earthly load
And burn beneath the sun's bright passes, retreating to the ditches low.
Upon the grasses they are marching, jeans soaked dark with morning dew
Their fingers on the keys are freezing, stiffening like winter branches
The mists between their feet are rising, aurora red and shadow blue
Like sailboats in a harbor gliding, the flag between her fingers dances
Brittle fingers keep the horns in either stiff or death-like grasp
They stumble in the frosty morn, sinking in the molding clippings,
Like a panicked deer they're breathing, their shadows leap, their voices gasp
But for that song held in their paling, claw-like hands, in fear of slipping.
Good morning sun, I see you peeking, from you hole below the earth
I cannot stop to raise a greeting; I'm swept away like windblown grain
I love you, Sun! To see your face; each day I witness your rebirth
Shadow's overlapping lace; the stars in fear of burning, let their light to wane.
And still that gentle music's playing, in my mind and on the field
A spectacle I'll weep displaying, to the highway's amber eyes.
To the morning's wistful stillness, I can't allow myself to yield
Surrendering to brassy shrillness, distracted as the colors fly.
The winds blow clouds in, block the sun; a halt is called and so they stand.
The light is dull; the dawn is done; the flutes are moaning bottle chords,
Mud and grass cake tennis shoes and streak their clothes where'er they'd land,
They listen to the morning news, the magic gone. The kids are bored.
The words are said and so they go, running frantic for the gate.
What just happened I don't know; I watch them as they laugh and scream
The rain so checked begins to fall; I realize that I might be late
I hear my friends begin to call, and wonder: was it all a dream?
Mik Namlieh
In the grayness of the morning, you shall see their amber eyes
Mocking those in frozen mourning, with their glowing eyes so bright,
Moving like the crawling creatures, 'pon legs that turn and never rise,
Becoming real among the features, mundane in daytime's yellow light,
Disgorging from their mouths the treasures, each worth more than pounds of gold,
Stopping, moving, at their pleasure, in a straight and glowing line,
The stars above the night are dreaming, unaware of mud or cold
Despite the restless feet and screaming, are secretive and pure, sublime.
Phantoms raise misshapen heads from the ditch below the road,
The sun is wary, bloody red and gives the rising mist a glow
Gentle fingers touch the grasses, longing for an earthly load
And burn beneath the sun's bright passes, retreating to the ditches low.
Upon the grasses they are marching, jeans soaked dark with morning dew
Their fingers on the keys are freezing, stiffening like winter branches
The mists between their feet are rising, aurora red and shadow blue
Like sailboats in a harbor gliding, the flag between her fingers dances
Brittle fingers keep the horns in either stiff or death-like grasp
They stumble in the frosty morn, sinking in the molding clippings,
Like a panicked deer they're breathing, their shadows leap, their voices gasp
But for that song held in their paling, claw-like hands, in fear of slipping.
Good morning sun, I see you peeking, from you hole below the earth
I cannot stop to raise a greeting; I'm swept away like windblown grain
I love you, Sun! To see your face; each day I witness your rebirth
Shadow's overlapping lace; the stars in fear of burning, let their light to wane.
And still that gentle music's playing, in my mind and on the field
A spectacle I'll weep displaying, to the highway's amber eyes.
To the morning's wistful stillness, I can't allow myself to yield
Surrendering to brassy shrillness, distracted as the colors fly.
The winds blow clouds in, block the sun; a halt is called and so they stand.
The light is dull; the dawn is done; the flutes are moaning bottle chords,
Mud and grass cake tennis shoes and streak their clothes where'er they'd land,
They listen to the morning news, the magic gone. The kids are bored.
The words are said and so they go, running frantic for the gate.
What just happened I don't know; I watch them as they laugh and scream
The rain so checked begins to fall; I realize that I might be late
I hear my friends begin to call, and wonder: was it all a dream?