Waiting For The Morning

In the night-time I grow tired

Weary from the war of perceptions and impressions

Where I fight with all I am

And all I am not

As the stars shine bright

In an attempt to expose my many flaws

I see no resting place

Nowhere to duck my head

No burrow to crawl into

To gather my composure

Ready to fight on

There seems to be no hope

But morning will come

Whether I am here or not

And the sun will heat the earth

And this night-time

Will be purely a scar in my memory

© Simon Bucknor

Advertisements
Explore posts in the same categories: Poetry

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: