Morning has reared it head
All birds and hot sweaty sun
I have left the land of the dead
For a moment

Dressed and shaven
Fulfilled with life
Scouring the subtle haven
Of my flat

Papers and toast with butter
Simplicity in its purest form
Words come along in a mutter
As I open my door

Cars and bikes fly past
Noises I am now accustomed to
Evanescent and buoyant to the last
The gate I open slowly

Trees awkwardly blow in the wind
Cracking and swaying in motion
Nature makes me regress and rescind
As I shamble along the street

Children deliriously play in bliss
Unaware that I have emerged
The world I could eagerly kiss
In a heartbeat

Factory gates appear like giants
Corroded and crumbling as one
This is the century for legends and defiants
One day I will be among them too