Waking song

 
 
I woke slowly to watch light patterns play on my ceiling
And the music of the new day slowly gained purchase.

I lay still and watched and listened
To the men loading my rubbish into their truck.

The men swore and in the background a bird sang
A song that was of a separate world.

Then I rose and showered and dressed slowly,
Wondering why and whether my day to come
Would be of music or of song.

The song or the noise of the world to which,
As a man,
I’m supposed to belong.
 
 

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