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!
Copyright © Emma Green | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment