The morning's turned into a sloth grasping at non existent vines.
Moving solely out of obligation.
Dragging its feet with such lethargy
Even snails envied its pace....
Up above In the achromatic sky,
The clouds have postponed any and all of the sun's attempts to escape
And the birds forfeit their chance to serenade the aurora....
Which now languishes about..
Even the empyrean struggles with the epiphany that tomorrow will come,
And neither the swelling rivers nor the taciturn sea
Can appease its pain....
Ah! Another day commits hara-kiri at my doorstep.
