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You wake up, disoriented,
trying to find a light.
A cigarette, a glass of wine
at an inopportune time
that arrived too soon,
muddying your welcome mat.
You cry in your cappuccino,
unaware of what this means.
Trying to mend the accumulation
of bills with lost return addresses.
Somehow it is a dream.
You had seen it in movies.
You, all bloodied and disparaged.
And there you sat aware
of the saddest violins
That if you only had hurried enough
You might have saved yourself
From that one rope that kept hanging
As if a hangnail or the last sealing stroke
Of a coffin filled with the remains of gloom.
You are afraid to lose this game,
The way that angst is stored
In a suitcase, kept under vigil.
Even help is a luxury.
Yet time proves more costly.
They will question your friendship.
And you will look unfriendly.
Everyone has become “They”.
Wake up again. Do something now.
This time, do not let
this terrible runaway dream
Take hold of your life, suffocate your final days,
Steal your fire for living away.
MARINA GIPPS
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