Being The Blues, a poem by Mike Turner at Spillwords.com

Being The Blues

Being The Blues

written by: Mike Turner

@SchoonerSkipper

 

I rise from damp rumpled sheets
Sleep won and lost in snatches
Room suffused with gray
Teetering between night and dawn

A long breath escapes my lips
As though a heavy stone weighs against my chest
And I feel the tiredness of the ages
Centuries receding behind me
Forgotten hopes and dreams of multitudes
Collapsing into dust

I make my way to the kitchen
Opening the refrigerator
Its harsh white light illuminating the emptiness
Switch on the coffee maker
Awaiting the mystery of mud turned to elixir
Satisfying nothing

Settling into an old chair in the living room
I light my first cigarette of the day
Reactivating the taste of burnt cinder in my throat
Recalling the dark bars and cheap whiskey
Of a lifetime ago
And last night

And contemplate my coming day
One of weariness
Dreariness
Ennui and despair
As so many before
And those yet to come

Knowing my only respite
Will be those moments where I again no longer wake
Nor dream

And my only hope
Of light and color
Being the blues

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This publication is part 10 of 12 in the series Backbeat Poetry