_{Si eres de habla hispana, esta versión es para ti 👉 Español.}

Moments of Glory

They no longer wait for the engine’s final hum,
it settles in the timber,
in the marrow that finds peace.
Hope is a bird folding its wings in the frost.

Every breath dissolves the weight of the day,
scatters silver dust on weary foreheads,
they speak of homecoming,
dreaming of the clearing amidst the thicket,
to find their rest
the clocks surrender the hour.

The stillness revives the grace that is now a stream
without a canyon to hold it,
there is only mist in a high tide of memories,
whispers that strike like heavy snow,
then comes the hush dragging other hushes.
Tongues of light lick
as if tasting the honey from the souls
departed from their kin.

When the night comes there are auroras that weep,
the trails smell of pine and departure,
the borders of the sky remain wide.

The weary nurse the void,
bitter tea that numbs the frame,
promised land to return free of shadows,
constellations like beacons
light their way toward the vastness,
the path is a burst of radiance
the night is long
so very long.

I would like to invite my poet friend Hive account@silher to read his contribution, if time allows. Also, thanks to Hive account@moeknows for visiting my post.

Dedicated to all those poets who contribute, ** day by day**, to make our planet a better world.