Morning

(I only sometimes feel this way...) Morning is a violent invasion The alarm, the light, the incessant screaming of the clock Like the sudden squadrons of an unforeseen assault, their Generals unfeeling, Mercilessly pound and pierce my mind. Day is a cruel imprisonment Each successive appointment a new form of torture, Until, sometimes quickly, other days slowly, and much more painfully, I acquiesce, And an all too fleeting truce Of tasks and places and people and words Affords me some of what I feel I should have expected, even love and joy, And I slowly let down my guard again. And find myself at peace, Until, amid the whispers of another world, Free from the dread of any cruelty, any bondage, I breathe away the day and blink, To wait for morning.