Unearned Morning

The sheets are tangled, the pillow warm,

and outside, they're starting up their storm.

A single cheep, then two, then three,

a full-blown riot, just for me.

Each chirp's a nail, struck to the head,

as if to mock the waking dead.

This light, a gray, thin, sickly blur,

is something I can't quite endure.

They sing of sun, of worms, of dew,

the busy world, so fresh and new.

And I just lie here, heavy, numb,

wishing for silence, not for dawn to come.

They don't know me, or what I've been through,

just that the sky is turning blue.

And they will sing, no matter what,

while I just stare up at the cut

of pale light, wondering if I'll ever sleep.

Another morning that I didn't earn to keep.