Array ( [sid] => 186873 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Morning Has Broken [time] => 2020-03-11 00:11:27 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Morning has broken
like an unscratchable itch;
like a shining /*****/.
I don/'/t like her; she lashes me
with the whip of bitter truth.

Pour me another drink,
let me think about the savage night.
Are you giving anything?
A bubble of truth?
Or just another drop-eyed judgement
that lasts till your smugness
eats my mind.
Far too unkind for an /'/empath./'/
The mirror is your saviour.
It smiles a sycophatic smirk
as you slip your treacherous dirk
from a dead man/'/s sock.
Beware the clock.

You danced like Scheherazade:
too many silks to bleed a man.
Too many lies for survival.
Too many eyes for denial.

See the weak falter at the altar.
Don/'/t alter the script,
it has been ripped from an open hand:
a strand of yesterday/'/s hope.
A poem for a dope?

Better to stay with the shadows of night
than be bullied by the deceiving rays of morning.

Still, the sun rises in ignorance,
and the blackbird sings his song.
He always sings his song.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 88 [topic] => 64 [informant] => TheNugget [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Morning Has Broken


Morning Has Broken
Date: Wednesday, 11th March 2020 @ 12:11:27 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: TheNugget
Morning has broken
like an unscratchable itch;
like a shining /*****/.
I don/'/t like her; she lashes me
with the whip of bitter truth.

Pour me another drink,
let me think about the savage night.
Are you giving anything?
A bubble of truth?
Or just another drop-eyed judgement
that lasts till your smugness
eats my mind.
Far too unkind for an /'/empath./'/
The mirror is your saviour.
It smiles a sycophatic smirk
as you slip your treacherous dirk
from a dead man/'/s sock.
Beware the clock.

You danced like Scheherazade:
too many silks to bleed a man.
Too many lies for survival.
Too many eyes for denial.

See the weak falter at the altar.
Don/'/t alter the script,
it has been ripped from an open hand:
a strand of yesterday/'/s hope.
A poem for a dope?

Better to stay with the shadows of night
than be bullied by the deceiving rays of morning.

Still, the sun rises in ignorance,
and the blackbird sings his song.
He always sings his song.


This poem is Copyright © TheNugget


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