Sweet dawn
Before the rising sun.
Cool quiet,
empty of human industry
Yet
Lively with chirrups
Songs sung in anticipation
Of another day, yet to come.
The devout man woke
Obligations completed
The breaking of the sun
Molten omelette, peppered paprika.
A breaking surf
On a distant land shelf.
Across a not so blue.
Dawn fisherman, he casts
the nett of his eyes
far and wide
Expectantly drinking
The jumping shimmer fish.
Till the omelette rises
Reversal of time
And sits atop the horizon
A golden yoke
On the beast of day
Another beacon of hope
That sets his thoughts homeward
And he turns his back.
eyes half closed.
Still full of those silver fish
Dreams his way home,
A home for every dispossessed,
To pour them out in wooden bowls
A release
From the crimes he remembers
And those that he does not yet know
From the relentless noise of industry
That juggernaut of humankind
That will soon break even that dream.
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