Waking dream

Photo by Hannes Wolf on Unsplash

A day dies. Souls flock
to dreams for salvation.
Crows fly away into the black.

Their caws haunt the sky
long after.
My prayers to no god
in particular often seek
their safe return to their bodies.

I wake up to morning familiars
— grumbling engines,
bodies swaying to the beat
of metro, memory of cozy beds,
a collective yawn big enough to
swallow Monday mornings.

Good morning, love!
Day begins with a chance of purpose.
A crow flies away.
Struck amnesiac by rays
bouncing off glass towers.

I hear something shatter.

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Before you go, let me share a wonderful piece of news. I am publishing contributor poems, essays, and artwork on my other blog, a culture journal called Pop the Culture Pill. Consider submitting your work there and help build a community of like-minded writers, thinkers and creators.

Thanks you. Have a good day!