One Moment

Lee Dickson

A poem. 

Lying on the grass, the sun beating down,

the gentle breeze on my face…

 

No disarray, nor conflict,

only absolution, peace, happiness

none of the above. It was just a moment.

A moment that turned into minutes, hours – nobody cares.

An evening to bask in the sunlight, to lie around, to eat

Some played football, others talked away

I simply lay there.

 

Beneath my languid limbs the ground held me firm.

Life was teeming; the grass was alive, dancing with the aid of the breeze

I ran my fingers through it

and I knew that this moment would never be the same as the next.

 

Thought turned to Wordsworth, Blake and Whitman,

those thinkers of the self, nature and the sublime – how I envied their ability

to display such beauty of the world which they were radicals to, on their pages.

What about me? The moment ended, but as it is with the minuteness of life, another moment came…

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