Sunrise Before Oak Tan

Steady the reigns of death
so that I may lay still upon
the deck which takes me to my garden.
The busy minute that marks forever
that until now
Id hoped I was forgotten.
The sun at breakfast
harbour shell muscle smells,
cockles in mud
the calling of crows to roost.
They go on and onward
yet so limited their audience.

Hoodwinked by simple things
like locking doors or lapping froth,
I had missed the trick;
my eye fixed on the bounce
not the ball.
Birth and death
upon us all in heavy drifts
but silent in their sting.
The way of living
not always balanced to how we expire
because the core of Man
runs deep beneath divine waves...

@Steven Francis poems 2009