a sonnet: “when pastel clouds bedeck the morning air”
Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them.
WHEN PASTEL clouds bedeck the morning air
suspended in the calm after a storm
like waves upon the tresses of her hair
a dresses’ folds that drape about her form
when all Creation eagerly awaits
the sound trumpets bounding through the skies
the Sun to open burst the Eastern gates
and floods of light stream from her laurel eyes
as tides of birdsong sweep the frozen land
in melodies they all have learned by heart
a pair of angels poised, with careful hand
prepares the curtain of the night to part
cause I can’t speak the language of the birds
instead I’ll sing her praises in fine words
