BOOKMARKS FOR THE CLOSING OF A PAGE

Moon hangs full in the western sky,
it is the first hour of the dawning day,
greeting me with silver glances as Apollo
struggles with his wild steeds in the distant east,
golden orb of burnished fire preparing to signal another cycle,
yet another passage of dull work day time;
slowly the week is moving, ghosts of lost dreams,
weekend a mirage so far removed, far beyond,
it seems unattainable, a country never to be found;
soon November will come, with it a season beginning,
that will culminate in the final act of another year,
played out on a stage of frost,ice, celebrations,
for that is the rhythm of the pheres orbit of time,
each of us to act out our parts, with scripts unwritten;
and this is yet another stone of the great cathedral created,
of another chapter in the vast book of stories that comprises all,
and as the poem moves to find the day well advanced,
it also finds the days have drifted along currents of hope,
to arrive gently upon the beaches of the ending of the week,
another marker inserted to hold fast the memories,
to give a quiet pause to the finale of another movement
in that concerto, that symphony, called life.....

25 October 1999