Poem: Awake

The newborn babe that sucks its mother dry,
The booming howl of adolescence gone awry,
The confident boasts of the drunken man,
The detached caress of the porcelain can,
The fireball’s luster, gleaming in the East,
The frustration that consumes the subjugated beast
That unknowingly sits with pride at its least;
And the day meets the waiting calls of each, and so it begins.

To wake up, to make up, to take up
Space, time, the weight of a fall;
Is it even worth waking the day at all?
To test the waters shallow, the hallowed, the gallows,
The certainty of tomorrow, the power of sorrow,
A place, a time, a reason, a rhyme,
The excitement of the senses, a motivation intense
Enough to make the best of the day that calls,
But in the space we are left to crawl and to brawl,
Is it really ever worth it after all?

I watch, I wait, I listen, I hate, I love, I take, I give, I break
The day enough to see the fake, the truth, the mute, the great,
Enough to see there is a fate,
A reason to fill this unscathed slate,
A reason to ignore the pulsating ache,
And for time’s sake, a reason to wake.