So Early In The Morning The Great Things I Write Poem by D. M. L. Catseye

I’m sitting all alone in this solid night
in the yard behind my home watching the fire end its flight.
It’s quiet all around; the fire consumes my sight.
Now a great roaring sound is coming from the light.
The thought eats at my conscience as I always knew it might
because I’m starting to doubt if I can tell what’s wrong from what is right.
Why do I switch sides so often? Why this constant fight?
How come I’ll change in a heartbeat from black back into white?
I’ll chew and never swallow; too much off I bite.
Dreaming of escape. Flying like a kite.
But the homely ropes are bound so unbearably tight.
So I’ll wonder about my life and the fall after the height.