There really isn’t such a thing as a good morning
When it comes at the behest
Of a violent sun dawning,
(With a beaming spite
and a golden knife)
Blood from the soft moonlight,
That had provided such a gentle spotlight
For the stars of your dreams,
As they played out their scenes.
Even so, it seems
Everyone prefers the sun
And its blazing rays
And its violent ways.
There isn’t such a thing as a good morning –
When the soft moonlight disappears
The only things left in the spotlight
Are my fears.
(c) Gemma Hinton 13/06/15