Sunday Morning Through an Open Window

I wake too early under mornings mask of death
Woven with henbane and stained with regret
Critical whispers crisp behind ears
Taunting and haunting down caverns of fears

The darkness removes all safety of blindness
There is no silence in the stillness of dark
Where inner demons coldly remind us
With murmurs of musings and pounding of heart
Memories lying like ghosts right beside us
And fading paintings of life-like art
Float in place in the space just behind us
Slowly erasing the freckles and warts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The golden touch of morns outstretched arms
Makes vain claims the day will hold no harm
And wraps me in an embrace of glowing warm
Singing soft songs of silver charm

Sweetly rocking me back to life
With the tender caress of an unknown wife
Melting away the edges of strife
Grown callous and cold like a serrated knife

Until a sigh of relief releases an ocean
Swelling and growing in free flowing feelings
Like the loosening of a belt
Or unbuttoning a shirt

And suddenly I feel at home again
Within the walls of my own head

And float back to sleep on a breath of wind