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Mourning The night's Passing.

Updated on October 12, 2009

Mourning The Nights Passing.


Morning pops its platinum blond head and

sun whitened smile between the cracks
in my curtains, vacuuming the sleep dirt from my eyes
screaming white noise into my blanket muffled ears
as blaring alarms alert me to its attack
insidious it destroys my dreams in mid-wisp
and drops reality like two feet hitting the cold floor
drug like it staggers me to the facility
where I can wash off the night
a mirror gleaming in the solar rays reveals
the extent of its attack against me
it has mussed my hair into a tangled tumbleweed
and marched tiny lines across my face
impressions from the sheets leave furrows
in neat Frankenstienlike stitches
teeth coated with yesterday's gluttony
grimace at the fowl chicken breath below
eyes glued at the corners by the sandman's kiss
I am a refuge from the night, mourning it's passing
driven from a dream into the enslavement of the day
I am an immigrant emerging from a dark country
forced into a shower to meet the requirements
of a civilized world that assigns me many tasks
carrying excess baggage under my eyes
with my shoulders bent from
the weight of what's to come
I am admitted into another day


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