The Sun-Scrubbed Room

'Let me become an instrument sharply stringed
 For all things to strike music as they please'
                                          - Phillip Larkin
                          

I

The golden ringed corona
gives way to morning
in attending its raised platform
summoned by the whims and wishes of
all who rise early enough to cast a squinting gaze
at the endless blue oxygens that halt dreaming
and drowsing in a fading twilight of awareness
to greet the usual quandries
that also persist in dreams
and resolve not by focus
but a blurring of vision
and fading of memory

II

In a pastel painted faded room in an upper corner
of a house tucked within and behind sparse bushes
gradually it comes streaming increasing in tenor
highlighting crevices to glinting sashays
that squint the eyes to a confounding lull in sense
and invite the dreamiest distraction of vague memory
as if so intimately known in common language
or written in books through ages
yellowing as the sensations fade
giving way to supreme knowledge
and sensile awareness

III

As a highlighting of all sacred things
smiles and happy questionings abound
musings of the bright and rote routines
the newness of growing up to children
unfolds with each passing day and play
seems to be allowable and agreeable
brightly gleaming into eyes
as the smell of paint and chore boy
ring in familiarity and comfort
toys drop with a thump to a rattle
and feet pound the boards exuberantly
with every new idea and aspiration
naiive youth can muster

IV

And as the day draws onward
illumined shadows seem transparent
as human shapes hit warmed walls
melting painted edges like ice cream
the color becoming less important
experience succeeding its surroundings
the walls all but disappear in brief moments
as laughter interrupts tensile awareness
breaking the monotony of pacing thoughts
relaxing scanning focused eyes
to see the sun-blinded illusion of lightplay
interfaced by passing clouds, barking, chirping
weaving a tapestry of linear dialogue

V

As if of the oldest gentlest recollections
time softens the blaze toward afternoon
hinting at the retreating cognition of evening
and din of eventual slumber of eve
the relief in sight upon the amber horizon
the bodies corpuscles in gelling surrender
weary and fatigued as a well played instrument
and bent over as a sunless flower
closing its petals of emanation
relief envelops the unnoticed
shrouded in darkest soul

VI

In Suns absence, details deepen in tone
and darker shadows move along the grey walls
as if old friends awakening and grinning
to greet the resting heads of worn chivalry
unbuttoning the neatest facades
to reveal the well worn edifices
along their regale called love
and their purpose named strife
seen observed at last by walls that know
everything of ones at rest
bodies supple, febrile and prone
their neatly boxed mindstreams
and that is all

              .....

#PhillipLarkin