Morning breaks the spell of past
with fists like lightning bolts
piercing through the mood
of a dark and sombre mind.
Birds and butterflies and me
fly in conscious formation
round and round and round again
the strength of one to overcome.
Willing now to be released
mind welcomes in the draft
cool and soft; a mother’s kiss
on the forehead of a child.
Thus released and free
and glory be the feel
that loosens sides and bottom, top,
of compressed despondency.
And as the overcoming gels
and hardens into good self-love
there’s yet a spot for lightning bolts
to break it into … loving me!
Another day has dawned
on all those dawned before
but of the round and round again
what of, what of, the round again?