Inspired by the phrase ‘storming morning’ coined by Fantasynovel1@wordpress.com, in the poem ‘Shattering’.
Storming into a morning that I know is not really there,
I find myself nagged into wakefulness by the lure of a coffee,
that I hope is not really there, by my side,
waiting
for me.
Sure, I know, I’ll stir long enough to take a sip (or two),
but why stop there?
With grated throat, I down the whole.
A mistake.
It’s now more of a waking than a stirring, and I have no hope of sinking back
down
into my slumber. And no hope of avoiding that to be avoided.
People. Others. Interruptions to my
just being
me.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, 6th January, 2020
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
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