Some Mornings

Take my voice, my pillow, and lay me on my bed of steel. For I am home, and not within the walls of a prison refusing to reveal. I have not sound and I am not bound, by ropes and chains, my efforts no more in vain, but the burdens of life are nevertheless so profound upon my brain.

I rise early to enjoy what I can and must. The dust of morning dew settled, the petals on the flowers gaining in power and trust, the rain showers of yesterday gone away for another day. It is soon time for sunshine, for divine bright yellow sunshine. It floods over from into the horizon, into my home. It greets me with the hugs of its splash, it crashes in, welcomed without word. The rays are as bright and absurd as life itself. Filled with mysteries and endless history, warming me as if fulfilling my every living wish.

The sporadic changes occur in sleep. Some times rocky, turbulent, unnerving, and seldom serving purpose of peace. I rise near dawn in hopes of bright “good mornings”. But is the good morning where it ends? Where I turn the bend into afternoon, where the sight of the moon means fatigue and I grieve my life for turning sour too soon? I speak as I swoon, tired retiring to the thoughts of the past day and what I may have expected too soon. But move on, I must, and turn thoughts of dust into concrete, to churn my cream into butter, to utter beautiful words despite the clutter between my ears and unsorted matters that we all fear.

I search for solace in solitude, I look for the love within my attitude, and I refuse the rudeness of days to rear their machinery into my way, for whatever the others hold, whatever the world may leave untold, must not encroach upon what I do or say.

Life is beautiful just as it can be ugly. Life is a vengeful thug, life is a drug dosed and laced with hardships between everything lovely. Life can be a lie, life can be why I refuse to cry, but life is lived for today and it is better to hear “good morning” than to hear “good bye”.

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