Heyday

Tyrone Graham
Aug 28, 2017 · 2 min read

The clouds that shroud
The distant horizon
Now start to part,
Displaced by rising sun:
The morn new born
Fresh as it e’er had been
Of yore, before
Man made change in the scene
— This place’s face
Wrought in his own image:
Hand marks stand stark,
Brand of ruin in peace waged
— How much more touch
Of war would have waste laid?
— To think thus sinks
One’s soul, depression weighed,
Riven, driven
By sadness, to madness
Plunged: plight less light:
To the depths of darkness
Soon brought by thought
— At best to black despair —
Yet hold! Behold!
Does not yon sight compare
— Gold flamed still, same —
With the first dawn, first light?
Gainsays heyday —
Appears, night puts to flight;
Yesteryears shears
Of myth; morning glory
Pristine, divine;
Match for breathless beauty:
Vaunted, haunted
Dream dredged up from the past:
Dead men’s — ere then,
E’en, when Adam was cast
Here, down to crown
Of this coign of vantage
Alight, this sight
Of prehistory vintage
Feast eyes — sunrise
As now unfolds yonder —
Scene saw with awe
Not less than our wonder
— Heart felt mists melt,
Though fresh from the Garden,
To fair scenes rare
Though inured by Eden,
Enthralled — o’er all,
By outpour of sun’s rays:
Molten, golden,
As today, as always:
Morrow follows
’Til, perhaps, there remains
None — gone, all done —
To stand ’pon this mountain
— To gaze, amazed,
At light dark end, rend night’s
Membrane — curtain
Raise at fall, of first light —

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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    Tyrone Graham

    Written by

    In the beginning was the word. And I got paid for it.

    Poets Unlimited

    Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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