Waking Up

The crushing darkness of the morning light.
The charivari of the early birds.
Another day of dreaming how we might
one day escape the prison of our words.
Another day, another week, our hopes
as worn as driftwood, swallowed by the sea.
We’re broken fighters hanging on the ropes
without a bell to ever set us free.
Oh fuck! Tonight I’ve really had enough.
The sonnet form is keeping me in line
but dancing on this pin-head’s fucking rough -
I want to burn the world and make you mine.
Those are the words that I should never say.
Another dream of you, another day.