Read Poem: THE HOURS, by Tara Burgoyne-Elliott

You awake like a new bud breaking free of its husk.
Fragile yet strong.
Your body aching.
Dusting off the ghosts of yesterday.
You move slowly.
You dip a toe into the brand new water of a new day.
The sun is old, and yet new again – full of offerings and gifts.
You take your time.
There is no hurry.
You enjoy each fraction of the morning.
You let your mind wander freely.
You write.
You watch your hand as it moves across the page as if it belongs to someone else.
You read what you have written, often re-tracing over the ink.
You stare at the bees buzzing around a hibiscus tree.
The magical presence of a humming bird grants you a glimpse.
You unselfishly take the time you need.
You ask for protection.
You ask for light.
You ask for love.
You ask for acceptance.
As the hours burn.
The bud becomes a vibrant flower.
A vivid expression of itself.
You can’t truly appreciate it.
You know what’s coming.
The late afternoon light is dimming.
The sun you follow can’t be seen.
Your petals are wilting, aging, curling under.
Your stem is quivering under the weight.
The water is evaporating.
You embrace the natural flow of life.
Your only hope and light is to know sleep will cover you soon.
Like a warm cocoon you will slip into.
Down, down, down.
Into that place you call Home.

-Tara

Author: poetryfest

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