There is no sound here.

Morning has no sound except for breath.

Sheets are pressed against my bare body and

I am

Alone again.

Would behoove to break the air with song.

I rise too quickly

The aqueous rub of creation missing me again.

Something is missing.

I am parched and penniless if wealth is the force of freedom to express the flow.

I wake and want a different day.

I want more time to weave and wonder

To rest this broken body beaten by time and longing.

To walk in the direction of my heart with no need to stray.

My ambition is a bird with wings beating against a bitter cage.

Tries to fly until it collapses, exhausted by redundancy.

There is no sound here.

I am alone again.

I will break this bitter cage

With my own bones.