5:54 AM

5:54 AM

The troubadour echos in the mirror,

Like a Rolling Stone along the road.

Tossing away all doubt and fear,

trumping any established code.

The light glides between the blinds,

illuminating the darkened room.

The seated writer easily finds,

words which deftly dismiss the gloom.

The embrace of a warm beverage,

caresses the body’s inner organ.

The fingers dexterously engage,

the keys to cast away boredom.

Simon comes upon the radio,

Duncan’s story is then told.

Echoing the pleasant scenario,

boy becomes a man, stories unfold.

In breath, out breath, Dust arrives,

Kansas sings the truth of it.

Pierces illusion, a thousand knives,

appearing to us as a holy writ.

The day opens, indeed it will be long,

this is clearly to be seen.

But this writer must remain strong,

words’ still shadow upon the screen.