Each Day We Rise, Some Of Us Early

In this muted-silver hour

the clocks are at work

faultlessly tick-tick-ticking,

while the sun beats hard

to burn away the mist

still lingering, midst 

a well-trodden path.

The sun's shine moseys

much like the mind –

each settling silently

beneath sedative sleep.

But pinch I must,

this semi-dream state,

though it proffers

an immense sense

of freedoms.

As the day breaks,

I, the listener,

reluctantly search
for an exit.

Moving slowly,

I direct my feet toward

that other world –

h  e  s  i  t  a  n  t  l  y, 

stepping

away

from

the world,

existing 


within.