Early Bird

If I wake as the sun rises,
with the birds in song,
I am in control.

If this moment slips by, however
I’m in dream and sleep-in,
I am lost – know not where I should begin.

Lethargy cloaks me,
I’m dormant,
a shell of a man.

Rise with the sun,
like all other living things,
and I am on my way.

Give in to sleep,
like fever,
and I am far from present.

Every morning I debate myself,
an internal dialect on repeat,
“should I or shouldn’t I?”

I often convince myself the latter,
though the former I know to be right,
avoiding the inevitable journey that lay ahead.

I really should get up.



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