Paul Cezanne

The brevity of a moment
Lost on a sigh.
One exhale relieving
A thought wound tight
In an ever-resistant mind
Refusing to give in,
But rather to hold on to what
Keeps us awake at night.

The frail moon is riding a
Determined orbital path,
Watching with compassioned concern
Trains of thought
Rising from many who sleep.
Just as mist rises from the moor,
The earth too exhales a sigh.
It is release: calming, soothing…

All as if a dream, this breath joined by
A tear meandering down a cheek.
Why is rising mist lighter than air,
Yet a sorrowful burden outweighs
Gravity’s pull?
Ever-bearing vertical pressure
On a shoulder meant for a moistened face.

“Lean on me”, cries the Dawn
To the Moon whose light is
No match for God’s piercing eyes…
Yet he is watchful and tries
So very hard to interrupt sleepless angst
And keep night’s dream waxing
As harvest time comes
And the Seed’s fruitful
Sacrifice surely delivers
A hopeful soul to eternity.

(c) 2014 Rick Stassi