Does a day forget
it is born from sunlight
or is it too enamored
with songbirds to know
it has been set free of shadows.
January’s cold breath has robbed
the grass of its emerald blades
while cardinals sit as rubies
on limbs mimicking flames
that have found their voice to sing.
Seven A.M always remembers
to play its brutish alarm, to bully
me to crawl out of dreams
I’d like to live from my pillow.
My grumbles anesthetized by a cup of coffee
I walk to my back door to watch the ballet
of birds dance color into winter’s gray.
A sleepy philosopher, I contemplate
the light and dark of what I always remember,
and what I cannot forget.
©Susie Clevenger 2025
Comments
to play its brutish alarm, to bully
me to crawl out of dreams "
I really like this. Such a creative thought. Who would have pictured a clock time remembering? You, of course. And that alarm IS brutish, isn't it?