slow, sludgy, broken sleep, new sky, dim morning

something whacked out in bits and pieces

I am thick sunsets, 
Sloping in massive sand dunes,
Trickling at a languid pace,
Like sweaty summer afternoons. 

I am a desperate hope for a better Canada,
Growing up in the shadow of my parents' nation, 
One that loomed with greatness 
And acquiesced with kindness,
A country that was grand and whole. 

I am a tired protester,
Fighting with fatigue present behind my eyelids,
Weighing my sleep down with worries of a social nature,  
All I can think of is how these are rights 
That I should not be required to twist and kick and pull for.

I am late nights and early mornings,
Watching the sun rise with the knowledge that I
Have been up long before the light stretches and reaches
All the way up to the pale blue sky, dislodging the moon. 

I am black coffee, choking down bitter brew, 
Elusive wakefulness, whining for the caffeine to kick in, 
Waiting for a glimpse of awareness, of bright attention,
Yet receiving no immediate gratification. 

I am cold night air, when it slides past my lungs, 
An exhalation, an admission, a confession, 
Agreeing that yes, maybe I don't know what I'm doing,
But does my intention matter, or my achievement? 

The End

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