The day is about to break,
First clearing of the morning,
The final call of the tittering bats,
The first yawn of a mother bird.
I'll never see the sun appear,
From this exact angle,
Bags packed for leaving,
Mind packed with memories.
Kittens are tucked asleep,
One last sip from the beautiful shore,
Oak is the door that closes tight,
Tinge is the door that opens.
In love I came to this place,
In peace I leave this space,
Truth lingers in the air akin to smoke,
Beauty fills the nose with cinnamon gold.
I'll never see the moon again,
Not from this exact angle,
Josh says its time to move-on,
God Justice tells me so,
Oak is the door that closes tight,
Mind is the door that stands on hinges.
Mind is the door that stands on hinges.
©2017 Abdul Batin Osman Bey
