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Nice, never had brain surgery, but have had enough of other types to enjoy your poem. It didn't need to rhyme. Nita Dennis Greene wrote: > Hi > > I'm back after what so far seems to be successful surgery. My thanks for > your prayers and good wishes. > > Whilst not specifically a PD poem, the following was begun whilst looking > from my room on the morning of surgery. > > Sorry folks - mostly it doesn't rhyme > > Dennis > > Fifth floor - 5 AM > > It's 5 AM, > and night holds day at bay, > gathering darkness in a close embrace > which fills the hollow places of this room > with old emotions, fears, and shadowed thoughts; > half seen half felt forerunners of the day. > > (Life lifts its head, > says something, > is ignored; > I gaze out of the window, > self - absorbed) > > Beyond the glass low clouds reflect the glow > of orange streets, > banked hellfire in the sky, > and silent roads > pulse with the predawn silver flow > > of headlights , > and the orange red, > red orange blink > of taillights, caught, > caution stop go / caution stop go, > in obsessive / compulsive loops > of imposed behaviour. > > How much this view has changed since yesterday; > then sunlight - spilling free across the plain - > insisted that it must touch everything; > and clouds were simply clouds, > the roads were grey, > and all this glowing flow > of traffic > was just one more half seen detail > among a million on display. > > I have the thought that light is never free > we pay for light with truth, > and when we see it all - and nothing , > we will be free - to chose > between obsessions and the dawn.