Dawn

Each and every dawn,

an analogy is performed,
for us, the living.
As our mother recedes from ritual darkness,
we are reminded of beginning and end.
Creation and completion,
firstly and finality.
Each dawn,
the sunlight arrives like a tidal wave,
washing over the planet,
leaving in it’s wake, the spectrum.
Colour reinhabits the spaces between forms.
Every dawn,
silent green and grey sentinels raise there arms,
lifting the new born mist from it’s resting place
deep in the ancient soil.
Each dawn,
an irony is staged for the dead,
as the phosphorescent haze of night,
dissipates into the harsh reality of light and day.
Each and every time.
We are the mist.
Our lives are just as ephemeral and perilous,
it’s significance is it’s very existence.

©Pantelis Roussakis 2000