Mourning the Morning

A Year of Sonnets — 020/365

A facebook meme my sister shared. I’m not going to try to source it.

The roses sing of red; I give no fucks
for morning comes despite my deepest dreams
and I have not the bandwidth for the ducks
that peck into my brain, around the seams
of sanity that bind me to this hell —
another morning — fuck! — I rub my eyes
three minutes ’til my phone alarm’s death knell
another blessed sleep finds its demise.

No solace comes from poetry — oh, why
the fuck am I awake? God damn it, kid!
The sun is sleeping, stars are in the sky
I only want to see my own eyelids.

Oh, fuck it all — I start the coffee pot,
the only lovely thing this morning’s got.

Yeah, this one’s rough. But sonnets aren’t always high art. I just wanted to respond to my sister’s facebook meme. — Zx