60 minutes are mine!

open to interpretation

White solitude
permeating the canvas
of the unborn morn
sixty minutes of contemplation
when angels speak and heaven
is but a finger width away.

Cradled in the celestial arms of wellbeing
when breath softens to a whisper
the all of nothingness is my true bliss
before the muted colors of dawn
paint a new day.
 

Reviews

[Ebb and Flow]

I find an empty painting in this, but as an artist and a poet this is what I see.

[Vain Apocalypse]

I interpret this quite simply as a moment (or sixty) taken for a cleansing reflection upon the here and now, a calm embracement of its importance, power, and magic over the there and then. There's an enchanting bond to be had, between a woman and her sixty minutes.

The imagery is communicated nicely enough. The words "White solitude," "morn," "heaven," "softens," "bliss," "colors of dawn," and of course "new day" all pervaded me with the sense of freshness and the purity of morning through and through.