Gravity, is a failing promise
he lies to me daily
I always wake on the ceiling –
today, it’s to a violet static of sorts
enrapturing, an exhilaration
of speckled views
in drowsy twilight
the sparse light that creeps
through the window shades
limps on the ground
refusing to greet me
with a “good mornin’”
(aren’t they supposed to do that?)
instead it just lingers mockingly
with staleness
usually as minutes pass,
the light grows brighter
and strokes my face lovingly
with warmth
but it isn’t happening,
day won’t seem to come today
and neither will the sun,
for once in their daily war
I think the night might have won