I beckoned not the morning,
And yet it came
Dragging me from the folds
Of the embrace
Where I longed to stay.
Cruel is the sun who refuses
To keep beneath the horizon,
An unsympathetic parent
Exercising its will
Over the child whose duty
Obligates her to obey.
Thoughtless is the daybreak
Interrupting the diversion of
sleep
And exposing the impostor
That I now know
Was naught but a dream.
But solace is given by time,
optimism’s greatest supporter,
Who offers the promise of
return.
Today's prompt from Napowrimo.net is to write a morning poem or love song
or an aubade. It is typically written to a lover, but when I think of the morning, the only thing I truly love is my bed where I can sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment