Soft music gently flows around my shoulders;
Sunbeams play upon my heavy head.
Why can my bleary eyes not flutter open?
Why will this distressing dream not end?
It’s worse in winter: cold is kept at bay
By thick and heavy blankets piled high;
When half-awake, I sooner snuggle deep
Than throw this comfortable burden off.
Yet so I must; the morning is half gone,
And too much work remains for me to do.
“Wake up, O sleeper; from the dead now rise”—
And, oh! to have that trumpet call within!
I began composing this poem this morning while in the condition it describes; the first couple of lines went through several iterations before I settled on what you see above, and then I went on to the subsequent lines. Fortunately, I was awake enough to get up to write it down by the time I got about halfway through, because I would have started to forget earlier lines.
As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. If you liked this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with those linked from one of the “archive” installments, since the full archive is by now, at over two hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know, as part of my preparations for a collection, which poems you think are my best. You may also share it with others, subject to my sharing policy.
This is also archived on my wiki.