Dawn raise its grey head
above the horizon and small
birds shake out their feathers,
find their voices. I also raise
my own grey head but cannot
find a voice to greet the morning.
Another dull day, a day
of anxiety and faint fears.
Eyes rimmed with fatigue, dreams
dissipating like smoke, I climb
out of my sweat-stained bed
and grope about for my clothes.
And I am ready – ready to face
life’s trials and troubles,to shrug
away night’s stifling blanket.
Each morning is the same, a routine
well-established, Today I’m determined
to break the mould, to begin anew.
Why be in thrall to invisible phantoms,
to dreams of the mind’s own making?
No, today I will confront the minotaur,
break the bones of that leering skeleton,
death, and bathe in the soothing waters of Lethe.
Bill Fitzsimons