Poem Hunter
Waking Up
MC ( / Isles of Scilly living in Barbados)

Waking Up

Poem By Midnight Clarity

Flesh is grave cold
in the pre dawn chill,
eyes blink slowly
seeking focus, seeking sun,
limbs are just a jumble,
padded bones not animate,
a sluggish ooze of life
moves through reluctant veins
and tries to strike a spark
against the flint of will,
breath heaves against
the slightest wisp of smoke
to make a conflagration
of desire, of need to make
the day my own
and rise up
from the little death
sleep takes me to,
sweet shadow of the future
rolled back by rising sun,
by wind that reeks of green,
of life and sap that calls,
bypassing flesh, addressing spirit
knowing it will answer, will respond
as long as flesh has breath
to feed the furnace
of the lungs.

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Comments (1)

'tries to strike a spark against the flint of will'. I really like that line. This is a wonderful expression of my daily fight with myself. A very good write. Thanks Richard