Awake

I tottered to the bedroom window then, painfully, clumsily drew back the curtains ‘pon my today. At first glance morning blinded me with wilful extravagance reminiscent of a woman at a certain age, bling-ful, blinding! Until - unwrapping my senses I awoke to facts, figures and self-made fake! Time dripped into view, stuttering cruel reality, t’was four thirty-four of too early the clock, too cruel a symphony, conducted by maestro insomnia? Stripped of silver veils a near final chorus of pink-tipped stars slipped ‘tween two soft breasted hills they, distant enough, moist with dew.. an I smiled, drawing my blue towelling robe around my insurgent wakefulness denying dreams. Old oak clock chimed irreverent as mile away waves thundered gainst a covey of ancient cliffs, their Jurassic throats echoing the satiated depths of time past where soft played the reel luring me quiet the salt coating my cheeks ‘tween sanity and sleep. Trembling my empty mind to work, slowly, slowly my eyes opened wider than wide sleep-walking the stupidity of my role tiI now unaware. Nary a word penned, nor a need to. A few blinks away time calls reality: ‘Hello, Monday, welcome to my world!