Sometimes

Sometimes the day begins 

slow, in a murmur , it is 

Easy to ease out of the bed

Turn your head , absorb the 

Wind as it eases in. 

Sometimes the morning has a wisp 

Of a rumour that hangs 

Uneasily over the reluctant 

Day yet to come 

The heaviness of the day past 

Is yet to pass. The promise of the 

Future yet to realise. 

My mind plays tricks on me. 

I want to open the book 

And learn what slowness means 

What it means to embrace what 

Is? 

I need to find my answers before the

Tea turns cold. Something changes 

Between the sips of tea that 

Determines what the day would be . 

There is more to beginnings than 

Getting up. There is more to rising 

Than realising the ground is where 

It was the last night.