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When the Sun Rises








When the Sun Rises 





When the sun rises, 

perhaps the dead and living

will once again join hands 

in that soft, first light. 



A weight will be lifted 

from the shoulders of the unborn;

once again the sea will swell; the forest echo

with the sound of seedlings 

rising from the loam.



And when the sun rises, perhaps 

the long shadow of the dead and living’s hands 

will cease to quiver. Perhaps they will shine 

as miraculously as the stars

that birthed them. 



Perhaps when the sun rises

the sound of our voices will no longer tear 

through fingertip and quill; rip through oak leaf

and spinal cord  



Perhaps our voices

can be raised in unison; 

once and for all

allow the tall grass

to sway freely







Joseph Murphy







Joseph Murphy has been published in a number of literary journals and authored four poetry collections, The Shaman Speaks (forthcoming), Shoreline of the Heart, Having Lived and Crafting Wings. He is a member of the Colorado Authors’ League; for eight years was poetry editor for a literary publication, Halfway Down the Stairs.

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