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This poem, being born during
one of the earliest AMs,
kept me awake like a fear,
kept me away from reality's
willing and forced eyes.

The shadow trimmed the story
I wanted to convey.
The unsure wind tells me this:
"I reckon yesterday, you saw in
the weather forecast that it'll
rain; earlier, not even a little."

"I hope," I whispered with almost
no voice at all, "today's a good day
even if this day was once not born
for me."

And then later, I remember how
this poem, being born during
one of the earliest AMs,
kept me awake...
kept me away from reality.

Now, I was drowned
deep in my thoughts;
everything in my mind's arguing.
I wished dreams to calm me.
I didn't know if the two little wins
did build or did ruin me.

"I wonder," I whispered with almost
no voice at all, "if this good day,
the hybrid day, was once again born
for me."

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