Alarm Clock Dawn

Focus is hazed 

as wing-tip 

dreams come calling

softly, persistently 

those starched seams of 

material obsession

trite expressions 

that seem to echo 

so endlessly

I’ve left it all behind, this time, 

left it all behind in my mind

the alarm clock dawn methodical 

in its wringing, starving, stealing time 

so stealthily that you hardly notice 

until one day you wake up faded, 

to a jaded, gaunt and hungry hue

I’ve left it all behind, this time,

left it all behind in my mind

So this is how it feels to be free? 

To be set adrift like some Coltrane riff 

when need’s an endless song

can’t tell you where I’ll be tomorrow 

I may be drawn back into the yawn 

of the alarm clock dawn,

balance is my only hope 

to end up somewhere 

in the middle.

~Eric Vance Walton~

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