I hear the first few notes

of an old song

every morning,

as I get on.

Put my feet

in pace before me,

sometimes long

before the dawn.


It doesn’t please me,

or bring me comfort,

it doesn’t stir me

deep within.

It doesn’t drive me,

conjures no tears,

it just is,

like the wind.


Math and science,

faith and religion,


we all call,

to our own angels,

or our demons

when we must walk.


No faded memories.

No long lost lovers.

No friendships lost

in blood and war.

It’s just me

and this melody

every morning,

and no more.


It keeps drawing me

out of my shadow.

It keeps me going,


like the hum

of a generator;

the white noise

of creation.


It keep on pushing

past every doorway,

round every corner,

down every stair,

and when I wake up

every morning,

it is there.


This fine day,

breaks no different

that any other

I have seen.

When I stand

before the morning,

I hear those familiar

notes again.



HG – 2020

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