May Morning, After Sleepless Night

Morning, sun bathing the treetops

with warm golden light. Thoughts

wander still on their nightly paths,

tired, frustrated even under the

bright blue sky. Frost on the

fields, gravel scrunching under

feet, birds singing. Only sleep can

bury the guilt-ridden memories

the night awoke, not this cold

morning of May, not this

light that falls upon the dead

grass of yesteryear. Better

the dusty air of silent rooms,

their shadows, better a long

sleep than this cold brightness

of an icy spring day that

should tell of life starting anew

but just resounds in lives

that ended.

01.05.2013