AWAKENED FROM SLEEP
The dead would gather
somewhere to discuss life,
but death is an absolute,
and remains forever mute.
In my mirror I see a stranger,
who has arrived at an age,
when illusions are lost,
like the messages in books
he read in his childhood.
A small fraction of truth
passed over his head obscurely,
like clouds passed on a night,
when an ordinary day dawned,
and like so many others,
was misspent or misread.
There was no hurry or bother,
a bright future still lay ahead.
This was a time of long summers,
with no thoughts
of the soon forgotten dead,
but thoughts of love
that would never die instead.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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