The Day Is Still Dark Inside
P
Peter S. Quinn
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The day is still dark inside
Where shadows of past hide,
A glowing here and there
And with memories to share;
Like a flower in the rain
With both ease and the pain,
That give a cloud its shape
And each their wondering agape.
For all has threads of hope
In rhythmic ways and scope,
The days are still quite young
In with its double-tongue;
You can not escape a past
That comes to you aghast,
By showing ways once shone
That in its weavings aren't gone.
Though some may never be
The same there inside you see,
The roots of the seeds trotten
Are not from a heart forgotten;
And only will cause some twinge
From the old layers of tinge,
These aren't with times anymore
And no one knows what they are for.
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