Five a.m.

June 3, 2011
A distant alarm,
A shrill cry piercing the sleepy warm air.
a complaining rumble and groan of a garbage truck;
Barreling down the highway moaning to a stop.
I shift in my sleep, sensing the disturbance in the air,
the clock glows, taunting me with its message.
Five a.m. in sunrise red.
Halfway between dreaming and awake, where the indigo morning resides,
I curl up and wrap myself around my unconsciousness;
The beautiful release.
I can’t stand for it to be gone, I’m fighting against the receding night,
It takes my dreams and then it’s gone,
Like a shy lover before the dawn.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback