Diamond Dust

We are the diamond dust
on the top of the compost heap
20 Billion fragile twinkles
the snow on the cemetery
eyes turned to the sky
terrified to look down
terrified that the past is the future

Morning Poetry

Morning people can’t be poets
The lights not right at six AM
Power walks and cinnamon bagels
Scares the music from the pen
Statisticians like the mornings
Accountants take a morning jog
Builders often start at sunrise
Poetry’s a night-time job
Afternoons are soothing sonnets
Haikus saved for rainy days
Ballads welcome after dinner
Morning poems misbehave