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The Morning Grind
One foot stumbles into another as
It pushes off uninviting concrete
One step. Two step. Three step. Four.
Earlier that foot pushed off a warm
Bed, where You lay, beckoning me back
Without words, a half smile spread
About your lips. Feels like years ago.
It is, and always will be, the greatest
Exertion of my day.
These steps keep on winding
Spiralling up to God-knows-where
The serpent that stole my Paradise.
I move forward with the vain hope of
Going straight, but the curves won’t allow it.
They bend my path round and around
Till my head swims.
Others walk, in front and behind
Additional links in these circular shackles
Which pull us ever closer to the close.
Occasionally, a window appears
And bathes the floor in scarlet crimson
Erupting. Then gone. They penetrate
The stairs at regular intervals
And plunge me into ecstasy.
These moments are few and far between
But perfect all the same.
Life is, after all, a helter-skelter
And this the morning grind.
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