Five minutes to daybreak,
yet another five, snooze, I fake.
Life's a journey, seldom in hurry,
and when it is, oh, I do have the luxury
of elite debauchery.
Guilt, is it? It ain't my cup of tea.
For, nothing's worth a piece of my reason, not yet,
and there's always another morn
to deal with self treason!
Relationships, I let loose,
like baby butterflies on a summer noon.
Seldom do they choose not to return;
for, an uncouth Sun, and wilting flowers,
aren't mine to blame!
I'll hold them close, for a spring recluse;
aren't they mine then, only for me to tame?
Sun sets. Sunsets are a myth,
like dragons, mermaids, angels, and Love.
I'd rather save my time for a cup of coffee, than write a poem,
on crimson sky, retiring birds and the peeking Moon.
Maybe another day, I would. Why today?
Ah, and I'm back home, to my private space
of acceptance, repentance, and mirrors that show all, but my face.
Maybe, tomorrow I'll search.
My bed, my coffin, a serene dungeon of forgiving spirits.
I rest for a while, a little more;
but, isn't sleep a dreaded friend, seldom welcome?
At least, not today. Not now.