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Poem

It's dark.
Even through closed lids I've perceived the
monotonous treachery 
the day has in store.
I suppress a moan within my chest,
and my bones creak with illusory age.
Another dawn which is not
impedes upon my shallowest slumber.
The persistent knockings of raindrops
voice my doubts and shortcomings
of the day ahead.
How long must I bear
the imbalanced sleet
extending winter?

Though I sleep no longer,
the spirited fingers of motivation
do not see fit to untwist
the lashes of my resting eyes.
I seek no better reason
to lie in my nest
of deepest self-pity.
My burrow of darkness may ease
my aching body,
but it cannot soothe the dread
that churns my soul and mind.

Who can know?
How many sifting moments passed?
What portion of my day
had faded
gently
into nonexistence...
before that tender song rang out?

Yes...
I hear it.
Not a figure of my desire
dragged out to taunt me.
No: a simple, cheerful song...
perhaps three, or maybe four.
My eyes unfold with the wish
to validate these incoming perceptions.
The gayest chirp of birds
amongst the pressured rain?

With booming curiosity
I stumble from my bed
and arrive to a covered window.
I draw back the shade
as my eyes squint in anticipation
of the coming intensity.
And it is exposed:

the brightest sunlight of the country
pierces my tired mind,
as there is not one cloud
for miles.

A smile breaks across my face
as I discover
the source of raindrop noises:
the snow is melting,
and the gutter collects its tears.

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