Sunday, July 26, 2015

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
 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
 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.

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