Author Information
Still The Morning Light
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Published Works
I hear the whispered knocking of the
pre-dawn wind as it strives to curve
around the house. So subtle it seems
like a distant memory that was shoved
back into my mind.
With coffee cup in hand I turn inwards
to re-connect to the dripping blood
that flows within my veins. I am a
forgotten moment of dissent washed
away in a stream of dropping pretence.
I used to wonder why I felt so alone
in the company of friends. My words
a carefully studied indifference that
masked the naked need I resented.
Suspecting that I am only as alone as
I allow myself to be.
Still the morning light
will find me questioning the situations
of the coming day. And though I age
with indifference I am different from
the boy I used to be. That shadows of
past illustrates the foundation of
today
which I
shall accept as my perspective
as I refuse to grieve for faces lost
along the way. Tears may flow,
and surely they have been here before;
but I shall suppress them and hate
the weakness they represent. I understand
only that I am victim to no-one but
myself. A breath in and a breath out,
and yet still I cannot find the courage to
confess the tinge of emptiness that should
be wiped away from my mind. Gently I
allow the pre-dawn world to wrap itself
around the tissue paper of my convictions.
I am strong, but the weakness within
will be my undoing.
