There are mornings when I wake,
Stumbling out of bed
On legs aching and still somehow numb,
To sit before this screen,
Always too bright.
I know that I should sleep,
But the dreams, the dreams…
Twice in two days,
I wake to the after-effect
The roiling, writhing emotion
Of failure, loss, regret,
Feeling within swollen fingers
The things I could not hold,
The things I cannot catch.
So I stare at the page,
My salvation, and wait,
For the words, the words…
Redemption in verse
Burning hopefully the pain,
Leaving me seared, but whole
Leaving me…
With only the ghosts of morning.
-8:03am
2/5/12
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