From Peer Gynt's Morning Mood
And Debussy's Claire de Lune
The morning sun upon my back
And midnight's moonlit shadows lack.
The warmth of day, and chill of breeze
Bring pleasures mixed and to my knees
The chill of night and rhythmic seas
Remind me to ever be.
The sun, the moon, the breeze the sea
They were all created for me.
The road, the track, the path the gate
Man bade us nature hate.
Light and life doth nature bring
Of such things, my soul softly sings.
Industry shrouds the day and night
In ashy veils, a dreadful sight.
About the Creator
Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
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For one bright year, it was just me and thee Playing beneath the apple and pear trees. Along came another, so bright and fair Teary, glassy, blue eyes and dark brown hair. Little mothers to be, beneath the trees Learning to love, nurture, snuggle, and tease. Another year together, me and thee Playing beneath the apple and pear trees.
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If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
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