You can have the night, it’s all yours.

I leave it there, sat

begrudgingly in heavy gloom.

The morning is mine though friend.

The soft daybreak in the sky.

The wild chirp and sunrise that

glint forth sparkle,

ready to gift

possibility bright.

My awakening is definite

when light streams

through closed lids to open

from ripe illusions.

But when the night-blanket falls down

it brings back fanciful make-believe

and pours torment on my dreams;

it shuts the door.

Do take, if it pleases,

haunting darkness

hours. And should a drop slip

to blacken my front step

and drag me under

pause, and lift the shadow.


with fresh dawn’s stir.

Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved

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