The clock never says what I want it to,
And at ten p.m. in my mind
The giant, parchment-colored face
Points its hands solemnly at half past one
In the morning.
The alarm clock by the bed
Blinks malicious red numbers,
Six twenty-five instead of a glorious
Half past eight.
Sunlight through the window facing east
Is a traitor with its warm fingertips
Tracing lines across my skin,
Inches from slapping me into
Wide awake.
Sometime this season
Before the shadows lengthen and
The leaves begin to change I’ll stop
Short-changing myself of sleep.
(98 words)
2 comments:
Sleep deprivation sucks on so many levels. The exhaustion comes through.
As one who gets up at five every morning. I know how hard it is to go without sleep.
I like it, because it's open form with a closed form feel. I always try to do something like that because than I have some sort of boundary to work within.
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