early mornings

the memories call, their song a piercing shriek
through my mind.
soon, i am awake, but my dreams they reek
of realities that i must have at some point
hoped i could somehow create.

the brightness burns beside me
and i can see the shadow of myself
reflected on my pillow
so empty, yet all of who I am

too soon to slowly pick myself up
i'd rather stay here. roll around
in the dry sheets
trap myself in their simple rustling melodies
the rare creak of a spring

it's a wonderful thing
at times like these i have the ability
to lay ignorant to everything
and just pretend to close my eyes
and close my ears
and close my mind
to all but that drifting sound

but it runs, oh you run
with such agility
with my heart in your hands
you take, yet you bring
the only calm I have ever known
that might--
in some small way
help to bridge the silent gap
my words, and their warning
between the late nights
i pretend there'll be light
i hope there will be morning