Slipping Away

October 21, 2010
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The chirping of birds can be heard.
They are songs on repeat, never ending.
The hot, yellow sun peeks through my blinds,
intruding upon my sleep like a spotlight searching
to open my weary eyes.

My clock reads 9:31.

Lawnmowers growl up and down the street.
Garage doors grumble as people leave.

I drift back off to sleep, minutes of the hour
slowly





slipping





away.





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