To Run With The Night

TO RUN WITH THE NIGHT

My eyes try to open,
Stuck lightly with sleep,
The slumberland hug of warmth and safety,
Just too nice to leave. 

The alarm reminds me of too much,
That I am a slave with perks,
I work for others where the only benefit is money,
My true work is without pay but with sprinkles of light,
That my time is not my own,
And that my time itself is getting shorter,
It will be too late.  

My sleepy hand reaches over,
I click off the noise and feel the embrace of my bed,
Today should be full of adventure,
I should be free to run through the fields,
To walk hills and mountains,
My dog by my side,
The sun smiling down on my grateful face,
But no,
I must force my feet out into the cold space,
My body now on auto-pilot.

The working day, like some kind of sadistic jester,
Pulls me towards it with no chance of escape.

I brush my teeth slow and sure, 
My mind still clinging to the remains of the weekend,
Almost pretending I'm not awake, 
The shower,
Thundering, soothing but commanded by my day,
The towel, a cruel reminder of my womblike dream carriage,
My clothes dictated by my day, 
Not my choice, no tie around my neck like a rope would I choose,
No ridiculous plain White, sterile and soulless shirt would adorn my back under any other circumstances.

I head downstairs and force down breakfast,
My lunch of convenience stuffed into a bag,
Such sophistication,
These sandwiches sat underneath my books.

My only lights are lunchtime with my books,
Eating second to the reading,
Writing should my soul pop up,
And 5pm when I head home.

I only hope the day does not take my strength like it usually does,
And leave me too tired to do my real work.

Instead,
Haunted by the glowing box in the corner,
Visions of corporate dictation,
Tv suicide,
Slow and unintentional,
Easy and entertaining,
Until I step into my dream carriage,
And head off into my only truly free space,
My soulful chatter,
To run with the night.