"Awake early in the morning again"

@Uootem

Waking up early in the morning
weather people calling for rain
  me wishing I could sleep again,
  sighing through the thick air,
    following all the routines
    feeling I'm still behind
    while everyone's ahead
  wanting to say the things
  i have already said
the things that keep filling my head
awake early in the morning, again.

I put feet to the cold morning floor
and stumble toward the door
  and finally get showered, shaved and fed
  for me this day is going to be another
    i'll have to put pen to paper
    and write of all that should have been
    and find a quite place to walk with myself
  the one who always makes believe
  there's always something more to write
about the love that was lost
awake early in the morning, again.

I know that it is so purely insane
the way the poet in me always demands
  that I sit with him and write again
  he seems so bold on paper, not knowing he's weak
    probably the weakest one of all
    sometimes he seems unworthy
    to write of such praise and admiration
  to the love he and I let get away
  now I must keep trying to recreate his creation
to find the right words to express last nights dreams
awake early in the morning, again.

I wake up to another day
i will play along with others
  while others seem to drift away
  should I hide beneath the covers.
    the covers that mask what I want to do
    when I'm afraid to do them
    those covers tend to protect me
  from any more pain would result
  when I make a fool of myself
believing that lost love can be found
Awake early in the morning, again.
 
Another day has past
the next one will eventually come
  just like this one did
  If I can only fall asleep
    and dream those once again dreams
    where i look back to see the past
    and to take a glimpse of what's become.
  of what's to see from this day's poetry
  of what tomorrow's new words will bring
the poet rests, I know he will arise
Awake early in the morning, again.

A tear of frustration runs down my cheek
for I know not what is to be from all this grief
  and what is tomorrow to bring --  happiness or sorrow
  will the poet's words find peace
    and his focus change for the better
    when he can speak of lost love found anew
    and write of love, the lasting kind
  when her hand touches his and
  their hearts beat entwined
another day's end, another night to keep hope alive until
Awake early in the morning, again.