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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1692638
Explores that mystical time between getting out of bed and arriving to the workplace.
June 15, 2008

Dark Morning

You could say I am under the weather

I have become slow from longing

for the sun to appear

The clock startles me at every turn

of my head to towards the pillow

I shove away the blanket and

rejecting exercise, stumble to the shower to

press my blood under warm forceful water

The wispy tail of night’s dream

caresses the back of my tight closed eyes

and this mornings’ humble prayer is for the strength

to wrestle myself into that ever shrinking uniform

Then it’s hot java and me behind a cold wheel for

a marathon run to that maddening house

Where the inmates demand in their sad silent way

That I mumble, bungle and torture their language

To plead and cajole them out of their dark mourning

into the light of day

© Copyright 2010 Fay Brown (faychukka at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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