The sobs fall,
Intermittent splashes of umber
Adding a dark tincture
To the swirling pastels
Of an early morning dream.
The waves of anonymous despair
Gradually erode complacent slumber
Until consciousness is imposed
By the impact of a slamming door
Or, perhaps, a fist on a wall.
In grainy, black and gray world
Of myopia and interrupted sleep,
Serenity seems a cause for self-reproach,
A kind of moral recidivism
Involving an absurd denial of reality.
Faint tearless murmurings from above
Signal another trite dénouement.
But I am awake for the night.
