Finding the Fire

Sunlight filters through the blinds

and I wake, grudgingly.

Resentment seems out of place,

but makes itself comfortable,

snuggling deep into my chest,

warm here, under the covers.

What makes the sun think

it's welcome in my eyes

on this February morning?

It lies, that aureate beam!

Spreads a tale of nonexistent warmth.

The phone on the nightstand

deals the truth, boldly.

“A pair of threes (in degrees) to the slacker!”

Hold your tongue, inanimate object!

Alas, the display also confirms

that I have overstayed in dreams,

and our dogs are dancing on the bed,

with a message of their own

that cannot be ignored.

I drudge through the morning tasks

and settle in once again,

to pretend I am a poet.

In my mind, the voice of Samwise

quips, “There's nothin' for it.”

And I face my Mount Doom,

with obligations to meet,

bills that must be paid,

and a frigid world outside the door,

where “Neighbor” no longer holds meaning.

I stare at a cold keyboard,

but the sun is shining,

there's coffee in my cup

and the words will come,

eventually.

***

Just working my way through a chilly morning. Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, will ya?