It Must Be Morning: A Poem

It Must Be Morning

 The sun is beating down on me from hundreds of millions of miles up,

 pressing on my back, marking my skin with the white hot sensation

 of fear.

 I know that I can’t save them all,

 but that won’t stop me

 fighting.

 I think I’m screaming, but there is wind

 howling in my ears

 and I can’t hear you tell me

 that it will be

 okay.

 My heart is a hummingbird trying to burst forth from

 its cage, trapped

 under the weight of a thousand

 prying eyes.

 It must be morning.