A Very Epic Morning Poem by Shirley Harrison

Saturday morning 6: am
I'm so excited to hear the ringing
of my beloved alarm clock

I jump out of bed
eager to drink my first morning coffee
I shower, and I dress

and as I'm opening the front door to leave
a gasp of dark air takes my breath
and then with horror in my eyes
and a shaking hand holding the keys to the door

I think…where…

where… are you going girl? it's saturday
how does one come to know what one's future holds?
if they do not search for it
in every empty space waiting to be filled?

so I went to my second hand dining table
I sat down on my old wooden chair
and I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote
all the imagery and all that I hate
all that I love
and all that makes me irate

today there is no muse
just I, the paper and the ink…
so I wrote about the Devil
who I believe to be a wimp

how he tricked me into doing many things
things I would never want to do
in my humble opinion this made him rich

but then my pen moved slightly to the left
and I started to believe once more
in the great power of good
I could hear in my head

the great violin of my own Soul
playing the music of existent dreams
finally drowning out his voice and laughter
so now, he's worthless

and as I pull myself back from the brink of mindless nonsense
my own pride battered like an old decaying cod
waiting to fill the bellies of the starving

It's now 6: 56 am

time to once again get a grip on my sanity
and as I reflect onto the next page
of which I truly hope to write at least a few

maybe I'll even write about an Angel or two.