Sunday, April 11, 2010

First moment of a day

It’s just a snatch and grab of sleep
these days when life abrasive, harsh,
that brings a sense of settled peace
with the moment of first wakefulness.

That moment sometimes long and deep
intrudes upon the loneliness
and wanders through the forests, glens,
like one who knows the way.

At other times a child at play;
peek-a-boo, I’m here then gone
but there is no giggle echoing
through the rest of the day.

But when it’s like a see-saw left
to suffer in the heat unused
slowly, slowly, comes the time
of total lack of usefulness.

What use the peace that crumbles so
when I don’t flick a backward glance
at first moments of a day
that bespeak the true value, worth,
of sleep’s most precious gift?

It’s like I’m schooled and tutored in
the manner, means, of disrespect
and in the, oh, so easy throw
of peace into the garbage can.

I could say it is involuntary
or just a something that must be
but I can’t, you see, because I know
I am the giver and receiver
of all I choose to feel
and all I choose to use, abusive,
or simply let lie fallow
in the sand of mortal time!

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