Each Morning
Like a leash on my neck,
I am dragged from the void
Into the realms of reality.
I wrestle with the curtains over
My eyes and get tangled somewhere
Between a dream and a cup of coffee.
I am first made aware by the
New sensation of responsibility;
Now I am playing for keeps.
Weights dangle on my lids as
I force them to break this barrier
Of darkness and open.
The blinds are pulled but the morning sun
Still pierces through to throw color on the walls.
This dim room restores my identity;
A Bible on my bedside table,
Book stacks scaling the walls,
And nestled between it all is her artwork.
All things are made new,
Every morning when I rise,
But some survive the deluge.
~Evan James~
Photo Credit: Skitterphoto