i've grown accustomed to having no one in my room.
i've learned to love the shade of my curtains.
mom gave them to me since i kept waking up earlier than when i should have
and that my eyes adjusts hastily on the light that felt
burning, heating, loathing.

what a span of three years does to a man.
but a force in my subconscious drove my hands and feet
i finally tied my curtains.

i let the dust settle in
like an unwanted foreign aunt on vacation
but i was taught to be hospitable.
the despicable sunlight seeped in fastly
and there was this hug that i felt

like my mom the week before chemotherapy
she always said it felt as if
her mother was looking over.
a guiding hand, she feels.

maybe this is what i was missing in my mornings.

so, i welcomed it.
i'm glad i tied my curtains today.

its these winter mornings
where any thought
of greeting
the dawning day
with warm thoughts
hopeful exuberance
and a positive outlook
will quickly be silenced
along with
the birdsong of
that overly optimistic alarm
that melody
so carefully selected
to ease consciousness
into a brightened state
of motivation
of joy
despised within seconds
immediately cut short
and resented for
its mindless persistence

the first excuse
a need for another
ten minutes
of warmth and comfort
to prepare
for the day
for life in general
perhaps
the second
a negotiated concession
that there was
no real reason
to get up
early anyway
finally
uncertain whether
in victory
   or defeat
the alarm will be
cancelled completely
along with the rest
of the day

forgotten are
those bright
autumnal colours
of the freshly fallen
no longer able
to offer
a crisp rustling
with each step
a whisper that
invites child
and adult alike
to kick
   and shuffle
playfully
ignoring the bite
of frost
unwelcomed
by noses
and fingertips

those downbeat leaves
lately of such
seasonal delight
have been rejected
by bough
   and branch
drifting meekly
without protest
or wrenched
from arboreal familiarity
by gusting wind
or gloved hand
turned to mulch
by constant downpours
muddily trodden upon
without second thought
clinging to any
passing boot
trainer or shoe
only to be scraped
and scuffed
on pavement
   or curb
stomped in a puddle
left behind

The leaves fall down,
My motivation too.
Just yearning for winter
Or something else to do.

I cling on, push myself
With each and every task.
I'm barely hanging on,
It's too much to ask.

To the branches and twigs,
The leaves remain strong.
Stacks form beneath them;
They will all join the song.

Yet as the leaves fall,
I can see a clearing.
My vision is regained;
My ears are hearing.

There's beauty around;
The foliage is red.
It merely suggests change;
The trees aren't dead.

Instead of wilting
Just like the flowers,
I can enjoy the minutes
And be present in the hours.

Floral death lies amongst
The pumpkins that grow;
When the days are long,
It's okay to take it slow.

The children find joy
In trick-or-treat.
There's maple, pumpkin,
And apple to eat.

In autumn you may
Lose your spark,
Just as the maples
Expose their bark.

There's also the chance
To ******* your boots.
Stay grounded like the oaks
Who find strength in roots.

i was late
through no fault of my own
at least
that's what i tell myself
just one of those occasions
where try as you might
the universe won't allow you
to leave on time
standing at the threshold
one final pat of pockets
to check i had
all that i needed
looking up
to gauge the need
for coat or umbrella
i witness
an inhumane globule
of avian faeces
viscous and creamy
in colour and consistency
exploding upon the path
two steps ahead of me
i see no sign
of the culprit
hearing only its cacophony
of enjoyment
or maybe disappointment
drifting
into the distance

she said
that i manage
to reduce
the nicest moments
into their
most negative
aspects
my eyes wandered
as she spoke
falling upon
an extravagant
burst of
the sun's rays
exploding through
the rolls
of pearly cloud
colouring the sky
with blooming petals
of pinks
and oranges
haloed by yellows
and creams
a sight
to marvel at
perhaps
but without
the imperfection
of that
darkened shroud
this light
would not
be mixed
into such
artistic palettes
and
the magnificence
of the scene
would go
unnoticed

wading through
the shallows
a dip
in this sea
does not
at first
look
particularly appealing
beneath
the surface is
a microcosmic tempest
of shingle
and sand
dashing
upon toes
upon ankles
upon shins

a tickle
of seaweed
leaves paranoia
burning
where sense
and logic
should reside
suddenly
i'm wondering
where sea snakes
are usually found

tiptoeing
against each swell
to keep shoulders
above water
somebody calls out
   jellyfish
and laughs
clearly
they are not
surrounded
by these
alien forms
drifting
ever closer
leaving me
no option but
to struggle
to remain
statuesque
as they pass
too close
for comfort

when the depth
forces me
to give up
my toehold
of sand
or shell
to tread water
and embrace
the solitude
finally
i will see
how truly clear
the waters
can be

i caught
the midnight sky
winking at me
as i walked
out the front door;
its clouded lid
falling upon
that bright
but waning eye
for the briefest
of moments

it is hard
to know
if this was
a gesture
   of endorsement
a translunary "attaboy"
   of encouragement
to keep walking
this path
less travelled
or an accusatory
reassurance
despite
   the ambivalence
that my secrets
would be kept
by this
ever-watchful
stellar companion

throwing stones
into the lake
i discovered
the dog
likes to chase
the staccato splashes
as the surface
of the water
is broken
with inexpressible joy
pebbles were tossed
individually
and by handfuls
as i watched
the playful bounding
for over
half an hour

unfortunately
i had not spotted
the fisherman
further along
the water's edge
rolling eyes
and shaking head
as wave
after wave
of rippled chaos
disturbed his lure
and line
scaring away
anything
he had hoped
to catch