Friday, 16 January 2015


The day begins before the dawn,
In blackness, never velvet, soft,
But thin in contrast to the warm
Of fluffy cloud-like eiderdown.
With a stretch and stifled yawn
And John and Jim who pour forth scorn,
I dip a toe into the day
But lack the strength to face it down;
So snuggle back and moan and groan,
And watch the first wash, pale grey
That pushes navy blue away,
And crescent moon grows pale and wan.
My thinking seems to go astray
The 'bat black night' has not yet flown,
Dark shadows round the walls are strewn
But as they fade I tense and tune
The strings and fibres of my being, strain
Towards the need to form
Myself as me again.

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