SLEEP by Marion Sharville

Sleep, soft blanket flung across the cradle of night,
bridgeing the chasms which lie between the days;
elusive until the magic switch plunges us into oblivion.

This parallel world of repose, infiltrated at times
by dreams, good or bad to disturb or pleasure the hours,
is awash with hidden memories and desires.

Dreamless sleep girds us with the armour of rejuvenation
to face the challenge of the coming day,
as we reluctantly unwrap the blanket
and crawl into the morning.

EAGLE’S WINGS AND CAT’S CLAWS by Marion Sharville ©

A soaring eagle may know nothing of God
or Capability Brown.
It does not admire the view.
but spears through the beauty,
lazered only on its prey,
the precision of its wings
appreciated only by man
…the imitator.

A suburban garden conceals a coiled spring;
deadly swift arc of hunter.
The terrified, scampering target,
fatally destined for play,
is not aware of an alter ego,
a cat curled before the fire;
a woman offering a saucer of milk.

A snail is deaf to the music of the thrush,
the thrush, blind to the architecture of the snail.
We alone, admire the view,
share the pain.
We, the graceless, the imperfect,
can, if we choose,
walk in another’s shoes.

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