Slow comes the morning,
eyes still dazzled by the delicate stars
now off trailing dust across the universe
as if plotting tracks to tempt us
further than the stubborn stance
of our single spotlights
and I wonder how far you got
as I sit here, in the silence
of this slowly waking morning light
casting shadows on the single form
in this too big room with no door
large enough to climb through.
We considered setting sails
on cotton clouds once, long ago,
in a corner of this concrete jungle,
a single streetlamp casting courage
onto our concerns of cutting free
like a jazz break from the base,
of burning our own trails of glorious starlight
across the deafening daylight.
I am breath that still can bleed now,
here now, far from that corner we once
we painted dreams on, trying to force
the foot to slow the speed of this time burning
while you; already taken to the dust,
now a speckled starlight
cutting your own groove
into an orbit I cannot observe
while tossing remembrances
down from the night sky
that fall and flitter
above the dizzying distraction
of this golden haze of mourning light,
still coming on slow.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
17th poem for National Poetry Writing Month
Damien B. Donnelly 
Very poignant and beautiful, Damien.
Thanks Dorinda. This one came on gently and surprised me slightly but memories are often like that I guess.
Yes, they certainly are.
This is so melancholy, slowly mourning, and the way the last line ties up the first is lovely.
Thank you Jane. It almost said morning at the end until I read it 10 times and kept thinking something was missing and then it turned out to be just the simple additional letter U
The times, I suppose.
Mourning light / morning light, that’s perfectly poignant and beautiful. It really does set the scene in this gentle haze of not-quite-memory.
Thanks again Shuku. I am glad the gentleness came across, he was a gentle soul before he became a shining star
Loveliest of all the stars then, amongst all the stars, and brighter than tears.
Everyone else has said it–lovely, gentle sadness. I agree. The morning light to the mourning light–suns rising and setting, and stars flying across the sky.
Thank you Merril 🤗
🙂
Those early morning reveries, half dream half memory…this is so delicate and full of emotion. Beautiful Damien. (K)
Thank you Kerfe 🤗
Great post 😁
Thank you so much. I really appreciate you taking time to read this