Hearken to the Morrow

Would you let me sing a song?
the sky so big, so broad, so long,
that words even in practiced mouths
are not enough to call it out.
Such vast expanse of purest snow
and rain and wind and stars that glow
these masterworks of golden suns
but light, at daylight's ending runs

in shadows flowing, longer still,
they seem to run like silhouettes
from the figures which they represent
as if to escape their cold regrets.
Your head's dark shadow carries on,
Your feet stay planted, frozen still.
But as the dark makes way for dawn,
The shadow remembers, and forgets.

Your shadow runs and runs from pain.
the whole world all appears the same.
But sleep is rest and now escape
from all the shadow's empty shame.

Now as you wake to singing morn,
The light is coming, light is come.
And though you may not feel reborn,
One day older is yet that young.
And as you step from shadow's bed,
you find your shadow crawling home,
though humbled, broken, parts lay dead,
a greater truth, it is now shown.

Disunity cannot endure,
Unhappy now, but not unsure.
Truth is ground most ready
for the growth of happy cure.

I cry with you, as others do,
I cry for trust misunderstood.
I cry for the pain of sorrow's truth
Of things unwanted, though you should.

Empty sorrow, forced before its time,
made all worse that there has been no crime.
The night is dark, but where is sun,
shadows, yes, and joy will come.