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Anti-thesis....

i wake up again
and the usual feeling is there
when everyone in the house
are still dreaming
in sleep

this is the unholy hour
of the arrival of words
but i must oblige
for i am nothing but
a servant of
syllables

this is a pond of darkness
and i am the only fish
here
communing with moss

this is the moment of my blooming
i am the flower
that blooms at dawn
and wilts again
at the first hour of your
morning

and so what you see
at your doorstep is another
untimely death

when the rest just open their eyes
when the first ray of the sun lands on the eyelash
there i am
back to bed
captured by the hands of dreams
lost in transition

and those who see me
shake their heads
thinking there is something wrong with this man
always running against time
against the sun
amidst the storm
and the flood
a bad sight of a rock
in the middle of the raging waters

but shall i worry then
when i am half-dead in bed
so silent like the sands
lost now in my man made stars
inside the secret
labyrinths of my own mind

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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