Pages

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Sunrise On The Matterhorn (Albert Bierstadt), Sonnet #507


There is in sunlight no matter of chance.
Even concealed by fog or thunder storm,
Or the earth in its rotational dance,
Sunrise will mend the dark’s misshapen form,
Making a mountain of the Matterhorn,
And tipping the point of the smallest thorn.
Like a flower’s blossoming, the sunrise
Blooms too slow for even the quickest eyes.
It’s best to turn away for a moment —
Turn back to measure the burning’s ascent.
Eyes closed I watch my eyelids brightening
And concentrate — a mental lightning
Transforms a thought into a warming star,
Renewal of hope brought home from afar.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:

No comments:

Post a Comment