Poetry: Waking

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The approach of the sun shaded the sky

In dirty, faded denim, enough light

To peel my fingers from dreams, leaving me

Addled, looking backwards and desperate

To recall lost images, stories penned

With invisible ink, sweeter feelings.

I look around—the room looks familiar,

Alien, hopeless—I stumble about

With my feet torn in distinct directions,

Avoiding contact with the denouement.

Every feeling, every fragment

Of desire and sense urge me to return

To a world where I knew myself, away

From the pathetic logic of today.

Photo Credit: © Paul Burdett | Dreamstime.com

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