Be honest,

There really isn’t such a thing as a good morning

When it comes at the behest

Of a violent sun dawning,

And drawing

(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