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Buddhakris Jan 2016
Hell, this day just begun and I'm already done.

I knew when I heard that familiar screech of the alarm,

The cold side of a warm blanket on an empty bed,

And the imprint where "she" had laid only hours before;

I knew then, that this day was already done.

I knew I still had to get up, "attack the day"

Or whatever the hell they say.

Brush my teeth and pretend I'm not the derelict from the night before

Pretend I hadn't done it again

Pretend to be the man I sold her to see.

The truth is my life feels like a snow globe

All the potential spinning round me

Still unable to grasp any of it, still stuck inside this cold, small world

Forced to pretend that what I'm looking for is inside this small world.

I'm lost, there's something so,

So dreadfully, inexplicably, abstact that I'm missing and I'm cavernous without it

Put the toothbrush down and just head back to bed

This day just begun and it's already done.
cyanide skies Dec 2015
someday you'll wake up
from a nightmare unprecedented.
you'll sit up straight,
gasp and stare in the darkness
like it's going to swallow you whole.
but then I'll mumble
half asleep beside you
and I'll reach out for you
and say, "lay down baby,
I'm here and you're okay."
and you'll smile, fears gone
I'll turn over, place my arms
around your body
that had previously been quaking.
I'll hold you and kiss your neck
my warmth right beside you
and we'll fall asleep again.

someday I'll wake up
to the smell of brewing coffee
and I'll get out of bed
head down to the kitchen
to find you at the table
a mug of tea ready for me
and you with your coffee.
I'll go over to the counter,
spoon honey into my tea
while you hug me from behind
and pull me into bed again.

someday we'll wake up
and lay in bed all day
I'll ruffle your hair
you'll slide your hands up my nightshirt
and we'll stay intertwined
while rain falls in sheets
while we're under sheets
and the rest of the world
deals with the world's problems
and whenever I try
to get anything done
you'll pull me close
and I'll kiss you again.

someday they'll wake up
with your hair and my eyes
my nose and your smile
and their little feet
will stomp down to the kitchen
you with your coffee
me with my tea
us with our pancakes
and our own little family.
**
Ram B Dec 2015
A lovely sunny day
Out of the window
lined by wood, painted white
Marvelous guest house
filled with mystery, personality
style and history.
I feel good
One quiet morning
A new day begins.
PJ Poesy Dec 2015
May morning cacophonies never quiet.
Doves coos, repetitive sharp whistles
rising and falling sounded by robins,
who seem to say, "cheer up, cheer up,
cheerily, cheer up." Jays shrieking
whatever warnings they shriek. Chirps,
tweets, titterings of so many more, combine
in crazy compilations of some
orchestra without their conductor
forever warming up days. I do not own
feathers but all my body hairs do stand
on end, flitting as if they were. Then,
woodpecker taps against hollow
termite ridden tree sounding like
the strike of a conductor's baton.

Nothing comes together. A symphony
never starts, at least not one of any
great composer's. Just the greatest.
I spring from my nest. I do not know music.
I hear it and am it. These mornings move
me to ditter about, find my way,
peck my morning niblings, feel dawn
dress me in sun, make me lust
life adorned with feathers. How
possibility wings bring.

From flock to flock, I dare to fit in.
Learn new mating dances.
I like birds, mornings, mornings with birds.
Pluck Dec 2015
Isnt it amazing? We feel missing someone more than them being at our side.

The anguish of their absence invades our dreams & they're in our thoughts well before we even open our eyes.

Why aren't smiles more powerful than cries?

Because pain demands to be felt but you have to make the choice to feel your happiness or not, & you should soak it all up if you're wise.

We're only human, we're flawed, & those flaws cause us to lose humans who's flaws are invisible to our eyes.

I see others with pencils & mine is always a pen. I never get another write to make it right, why can't I be one of the ones that gets two tries?
sev Dec 2015
Live for mornings
The lazy ones that help you forget
and warm ones that make you remember
Get up!
Find the beauty the night died for
Mica Kluge Nov 2015
Two o'clock in the morning
Is my best friend.
The steam from my
Fourth cup of coffee
Curls out of my chipped old mug
To caress the frost-kissed window.
The golden glow of my lamp
Disguises the cold light
The moon casts upon the ice shrouded garden.
Two o'clock knows
All my secrets
All my tears
All my schemes.
My cup of coffee and I,
Holding the universe together
Just by our existence,
By our very essence.
For two o'clock in the morning
Is not for the faint of heart.
It is not for the lovers
Or the mundane
Or the sleepers.
Two o'clock in the morning
Is for the writers
For the poets
For the dreamers.
It is for the desperate
The passionate
The obsessed.
They join the stars
Dancing in the winter sky
In their wanderings through the darkness.
Once the mundane fade
Into the realm of sleep,
Heaven's teardrops pour
Their favor on upturned faces,
The faces of those who look to
The stars
The dark
The night
For guidance
For wisdom
And for inspiration.
And so, the daybreak finds me,
Something small dwelling with something enormous,
I and the universe.
It is, however, a part of me,
And I am a part of it.
SilverSpoon Oct 2015
Most mornings are spare,
Like the spaces between the branches of a spruce tree.
Most mornings are clearings in woods
And bare bark.
Most mornings sound of violins
And Torquil Campbell’s voice swooning in and out of Bach’s Suites,
Leaving you empty,
Hueing you in gray,
And sketching you, lightly, onto white notebook paper.
R Oct 2015
I fell in love with the mornings
and waking up to breakfasts in bed
drinking coffee only you would know how to make

I fell in love with noon
and the lunches we had together
talking about the latest news over takeout

I fell in love with the afternoons
and the times we spent reading on the couch
eating every word interrupted by coffee stains

I fell in love with the nights
and our stupid little adventures
driving aimlessly and getting lost on the highway

I fell in love with the midnights
and talking to you about anything and everything
watching you stare at my mouth listening to every word

I fell in love with the moments
and everything in between the beginning and the end
wishing I could still spend them with you

I fell in love with the sound of your voice
and the feel of your existence
but I am not in love with you.
influenced by Aless D.
Roberta Day Sep 2015
Your eyes are rustic in the morning
contrasting your sun-stained skin to
have a glow about it–perhaps it’s nicotine
   Eight a.m looks good on you, for you
   It’s nice not waking up early alone
It’s nice being conscious of the sun rising together
though we’re still tangled in arms under covers
   It’s just nice to not sleep alone
Though there is such a thing as too much heat
  But I miss it when it’s gone
More specifically your heat
and your scent–slightly nicotine
  and natural morning rust
How is your skin so smooth
and your form robust?
Your breath so gentle, along with your touch
which can play the part of rough when
the heat becomes too much
Your front hugging my back
a situational brushing igniting
blood rushings–like nicotine
I’m not quite hooked but I do like
a taste of you in the morning
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