It's too early for
the day to begin
and too late for
last night
to continue.
Saturday morning,
6: 30 am
and I'm too tired
to be awake.
The cat's have the right idea,
their still asleep in
the warmth of my bed
while I sit here
pouring coffee
and nicotine down
my throat,
trying to shift
the cobwebs
that spun around
my thoughts
whilst I slept.
I'm stale,
stagnent
and another day stretches
out before me
with a mocking smile
All I wanted was 2 hours more.
Just to re-charge my batteries
before the weekend
truely began.
The black and white one
rolls over,
stretches,
opens his green eyes
and looks at me as if to say
'What the hell are you doing?
Don't you realise what time it is? '
Before curling back up into
a ball and drifting off into sweet oblivion.
Sometimes I hate that damn animal....
It's too early for
the day to begin
and too late for
last night
to continue.
Saturday morning,
6: 30 am
and I really am
too tired
to be awake.
As you can tell from this poem.
It's neither good
or bad,
like me
it just
exist's.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Existentialism - at its finest hour - or not. Nice job.