THE DAWN OF SOMETHING NEW

The Dawn of Something New

It is most difficult—so often:
To look into so many faces,
At so many diverse places:
Seeing commonality in vain regrets,
Longings, and sometimes fears;
The feigned happiness: noting nothing,
That’s postulated as a thing—
Most wholesome, thereby sincere.
All that can be done,
All that one can do:
Is to just be still—
While waiting for a new dawn.

Blue Horizons

The wind and the sky,
The earth and the sea,—
All these beauties from Nature,
So truly wondrous to see,

Makes dwarfs of all other circumstances:
That there could ever be,

And brings a Universe of dreams,
Of horizons so truly wonderful and blue,—
Yet not to those who covet materials to have:
But the ones that never fail, only to just be.

Heartfelt

The heart flutters in the breast with passion,
When love is at its best;
But aches so in the head, when love’s lost its fashion:
For those once palpitating feelings that now brings only distress.

In the head now are the voices and images forever;
Of what the heart once believed would never end,
Because it seemed a love destined, fixed permanently together;
Now all that remains, is the heart that must somehow mend.

T. M. Boughnou was drawn to the writers and thinkers of the ninetieth and early twentieth centuries. After years of a dedicated reading and writing regimen and journal-keeping of his thoughts and observations of his daily routines and personal travels, he began to write. He splits his living-time between Davenport, Iowa and Boston, Massachusetts.