Sunday, 3 January 2021

Morning.

        One from away back, forgot it was there.

Morning.

Dawn kisses the night
darkness melts,
once again consciousness
finds the morning,
it was where it usually is
midst the stale smells
of last night’s drunkenness

A slow tide, the blanket rolls back,
reluctant to repeat its masquerade
a body lies still.
Resenting the mind’s push, feeble feet
shuffle to a coffee jar,
thoughts of a thousand kettles clicking
a thousand spoons delving deep,
a city stirring.

Grudgingly the cast,
freed from night’s dark crypt
don their robes,
all actors, no audience,
our stage is set,
the play already started,
each player writes their script.
 

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk    

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