Being the Blues

I rise from damp rumpled sheets

Sleep won and lost in snatches

Room suffused with gray

Teetering between night and dawn

A long breath escapes my lips

As though a heavy stone weighs against my chest

And I feel the tiredness of the ages

Centuries receding behind me

Forgotten hopes and dreams of multitudes

Collapsing into dust

I make my way to the kitchen

Opening the refrigerator

Its harsh white light illuminating the emptiness

Switch on the coffee maker

Awaiting the mystery of mud turned to elixir

Satisfying nothing

Settling into an old chair in the living room

I light my first cigarette of the day

Reactivating the taste of burnt cinder in my throat

Recalling the dark bars and cheap whiskey

Of a lifetime ago

And last night

And contemplate my coming day

One of weariness

Dreariness

Ennui and despair

As so many before

And those yet to come

Knowing my only respite

Will be those moments where I again no longer wake

Nor dream

And my only hope

Of light and color

Being the blues

By Mike Turner

From: United States

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