Through bars of engine roars, a tiny chirp;
The early breath of day, slowly haled within usurp;
Even more than a physical hunger have we,
Poets to sate the inner gnawings become thee;
Silent watchful ones in searching introspection,
Like flowers innately beautiful from creation;
A song sings of the dawn, to a sleep muted cloud;
Resonating in spurts of motor vehicles loud;
Autumn winds of the warm Atlantic storm,
As the season deepens becomes the norm;
The turbulent swing of terrorism too, remember;
As the flames of candle light outlive the ember;
Healing willed in life cycles, the loss and the pain;
Respect for life in peace to gain
Morning dew crafts a jewel on the leaf of life,
Promised to an end of strife;
Tease for an appetite of life anew;
But din of callous disrespects eschew,
A kind of man, a species he,
Determined not to live in harmony;
For to love, is to yield power unto another;
From a field vast and wide an in coming zephyr,
Tosses and tumbles from a soundless bundle,
Of experiences drafted like a Milky Way trundle,
Willed to the spirit of motion without rhythm;
Life without love, without yielding, without a lesser;
Without colour, without a poem, without a flower;
Motion, movement, sway, wind, debris
A musical score; engine roar and chirpy chirpy.

Gillena Cox

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/september-musings/