by Mike Bayles

Created on: September 15, 2010

Broken Morning

                            A hole in the clouds allows light

                            to fall on the lot where I stand.

                            The morning’s gray and blue

                            awaiting another storm.

                           Strangers pass without a word

                           and sparrows flutter into skies,

                           while I wonder about my fate

                           now left on my own.

                           Morning breeze sings a sad song,

                           and dawn’s not a promise, but dread,

                           a fear of something imagined,

                           conjured by something once said.

                           Memories stir of my father

                           who once promised me the world,

                           but now he’s gone,

                           and I wonder what to do

                           with remnants of my life.

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