This is just like every morning.
No angels call,
or horns from Heaven.
The Sun still sleeps.
The Moon is tired,
and slipping off into the western sky.
I hold my breath as I wake fully,
listening for the sign to come,
but the world is still,
at this young hour,
and no calamity prevails.
into a world that wants me dead,
wants me silent,
when I feel a screaming inside.
Creep into my daily costume,
feed and ready my transgressions,
and prepare to step outside
and stay alive.
and dull sounds
of a distant city.
and no usurper.
Does this idyllic greeting
let me give up my vigil?
it never does.
My life is an anomaly.
Breathing is a dangerous thing.
Thinking, more troublesome, still.
Speaking, could get you censored.
Acting, could get you killed.
So, as peaceful as my world is,
it is only on the surface, so.
The same undercurrents
flow beneath the surface,
as any other place
that you could go.
of what it is I have been given.
and be respectful,
and give protection to the living.
HG – 2020