Morning, March in the Modern World

March 23, 1995|By Barbara M. Simon

Today, we give ourselves all

the morning, consider the sunlight

a personal gift. The world begins

its somersault from winter

to renewal. We waken.

Almost secure within suburban

split levels and bungalows, we take

life in megabytes and soundbites

Minutely measured and analyzed,

experience diminishes to excitement;

passion shrinks to interest;

wonder disappears. Distance

muffles our words, clouds our thoughts

the way winter seeps back

into the afternoon, drawing shadows

up the bricks into the window.

Done in by endless change,

the unpredictable assault, we shrug

away the afternoon. Peace

falls prey to passivity.

Night twists its way through

our hearts. The morning's promise

vanished, a chill beyond

the reach of fire and hearth

crawls into our bones. Winter snarls one more time at our heels.

We close the door, lock up --

cold out; emptiness within.

Hope fails under silence

slick as ice, and we shiver

to recall all actions once taken,

now accidents nervously avoided.

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