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Description
It is dark in the morning
much like the beginning of anything
we wake from our unconscious cave
and for me it is a burden
to be reborn unto the wakefullness of day
at night I was innocent of all happenings
at night I was cleansed
and though While I slept
things did cheat lie kill
and survive off of it, live by sin, sin by life
and I was removed of it

The night shadow of an
owl sways across a semi blue drapery of night stars
--crescent moon
upon an unwary meadow of
defenseless victims
talons unclasped
the split waxen moon shines upon them
the silent but notable cry of crickets
halted by the small scream of the innocent
This struggle of night
moves me not in
my cavern of sleep
It is only the malicious
which wakes me to the horror of the night
to what man has done in the dark
blood streams through the orifices of the media
through the radio staining the tubes inside
through the T. V. short circuiting
through the blood red paper
What is black and white and red all over?
It is the newspaper blood red small dots the matrix of painful snapshots
morning coffee the only anodyne
while you turn the page--of numbers and facts--obituaries
of the nights ravishing
to gawk and laugh at the comics
It is too much for me
eyes burning I return to sleep
too tired and torn
from this world of isolated night and
vile mornings
I sleep waiting for the day of solar eclipse
where I am saved from the Newsbreak of dawn

Description
It is dark in the morning
much like the beginning of anything
we wake from our unconscious cave
and for me it is a burden
to be reborn unto the wakefullness of day
at night I was innocent of all happenings
at night I was cleansed
and though While I slept
things did cheat lie kill
and survive off of it, live by sin, sin by life
and I was removed of it

The night shadow of an
owl sways across a semi blue drapery of night stars
--crescent moon
upon an unwary meadow of
defenseless victims
talons unclasped
the split waxen moon shines upon them
the silent but notable cry of crickets
halted by the small scream of the innocent
This struggle of night
moves me not in
my cavern of sleep
It is only the malicious
which wakes me to the horror of the night
to what man has done in the dark
blood streams through the orifices of the media
through the radio staining the tubes inside
through the T. V. short circuiting
through the blood red paper
What is black and white and red all over?
It is the newspaper blood red small dots the matrix of painful snapshots
morning coffee the only anodyne
while you turn the page--of numbers and facts--obituaries
of the nights ravishing
to gawk and laugh at the comics
It is too much for me
eyes burning I return to sleep
too tired and torn
from this world of isolated night and
vile mornings
I sleep waiting for the day of solar eclipse
where I am saved from the Newsbreak of dawn