Before The Sun Rises

The morning sun has yet to rise

All is quiet outside

Along the road people are asleep

Cars parked and likewise dreaming

Old motors clinking and clanging as they cool

Here, in the night, I can think

Times are changing and I feel it

The clock face watches me in silence

Uttering a quiet tick-tock in this secluded darkness

Before me a new day awaits

But here, in the now, the book are closed

And no one is keeping record

A lush green pasture opens before me

And my mind quickly takes to play upon it

Running free, without boundaries or limitation

Like an eternal canvas set upon an easel

Pictures form in blurred vision

One of a home set upon greenest grass

Children playing by the fence

A small dog barks as he waits for them to toss the ball

In rocker, on the porch, the parents watch

Drinking cold lemonade from a clear pitcher

Each with a smile of pure perfection on their faces

Below the canvas, a small plaque:

"An American Dream", it reads

This is the one, of which, stuck most in my mind

In the late evening solitude I smile

Not as perfect as they did, but close

Somewhere in time I'll have my lemonade

Three, squared to perfection, ice cubes floating lazily in my glass

My dog lying silently at my feet

From inside, the smell of dinner cooking

And childrens laughter ringing from out back

Below my canvas, a small plaque:

"Before the Sun Rises", it reads

Chris Townsend

Oct 2000