Eternal Return
Apokatastatic,
the haystack glistens
in the sunlight,
a yellow disheveled hill
untold wisps, stalks, bits,
sticking out of it
like fool's gold.
The day ends,
bends the colors away;
the sun sets.
In the dark,
the hay loses shape, outline,
but there it is still,
shining through the millenia
one way or another
reminder of the harvest,
of man's life and work
on earth
day and night
shining its light,
running its course,
from one post to the next.
© Jack D. Harvey
 |
| Jack D. Harvey |
Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared here, there and elsewhere on the internet and in paper. The author has been writing poetry since he was sixteen and lives in a small town near Albany, New York.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please be supportive and kind in your comments.