Sunday

If she came
to grace Sunday morn,
as the Sun lay bright gold kisses
on the gums across the way,

in pools of shadow
would my quiet thoughts lie in wait
for quick Summer storms
and dripping rain.

Solitude, I seek
when white hot rage
comes bathed in honey
and serpentine wine.

Shall I bear
this pleasured pain?
Shall I give all of me
to such craving need?

Or shall I wait
for that which comes
from measured pace
and steady mind.

My answer lies
in all I see within.
Everything I am, will be,
or have ever been.

© 2013 Stephen Boothe

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About txyogi

Fifty plus year old Network engineer, father, grandfather, webmaster, graphic designer, guitar/bass player, yogi from Texas. View all posts by txyogi

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