Early Morning

EARLY MORNING Early morning. Darkened skies. All alone with the tears I cry. I am stuck in this awful mode feeling alone with the mother lode. How can it be? Why can’t I see the wasteland that is me? I try to write but the words they run, they run into the morning sun. Free me Muse from icy bonds. Free me Muse to feel the sun. I lock myself behind the door looking for the evermore. Write hand Write! Paint arm Paint! Spill the stain and work the ink. Troubled soul that I am make me humble before the stand. Easel, my easel rigid in form hold my victim while I learn. Mighty pen set me free. Mighty pen release me. Finally the work is done, this solemn work just begun, this early morning poem. Another battle that I’ve won. Another poem for my chums.