The Awareness of Morning

Before me, ever, lay
blank pages
upon which I may not write;
yet words fill my days
until night
closes the book.
Another day in which
my heart found no strength
to brave the emptiness.
And when unrest
drives me from my bed,
I chide myself,
and blame the cabernet
for the gnawing sickness
that accentuates
the awareness that is morning.
Doubt resides
in my bowels
and with demanding growls
poses its questions.
My skull, loosened,
lifts and descends
until a cup of the bitter brew
forces the acute perspective.
A single-eyed view
upon a soul I no longer own.
And each day
newly arrived
threatens silence,
until you speak
and fill my day with words.


Line Count: 31

2nd place winner Newbies & Open Poetry Contest September 2019