Thursday, September 10, 2009


Each fair day I wake to hear the morning lark,
Chirping loud above the babble present here,
Screams that rupture my blissful morning's rare sleep,
Rested state so quickly dissipates as air.

Days continue on in patterns much like this,
Screamo tunes arise from the brothers' dark lair,
Clanking pots and pans from Mother's morning haste,
Slamming doors, the morning's harsh own Reveille.

Yet Today, at last, a change has come about,
Quiet day, I rise to hum from fan above,
Difference found at silence' soft and silky touch,
Clamor finally shushed, yet felt so far away.

I should find joy in euphony averted,
But now I feel as flake's first drop at Fall's dawn,
Drifting, shaking, down into the broad unknown,
I turn on Underoath and imagine home.

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