7:08 am.

by Harry

Submitted by Ben Brizell

.

Every morning now,
every cold, wet June morn
I awaken to a message from you,
the hours pass revealing the same time
each day, each morning.
Each message filled with a little black heart
at 7:08 am.

I smile and sigh
each sodden time
as I drag a t-shirt over my head
and resume listening to Bon Iver.
Whilst you walk somewhere, far away.
Remember when our times where filled together?
I do,
as I spit mouthwash into the sink and ruffle my dog’s fur.

Minutes upon minutes,
message upon messages.
A love intertwined,
on dreary May days.
Now it’s solemn June days
bringing smiles and sighs of optimistic hopelessness
at 7:08 am.

The coffee touches my lips,
A remembrance of what once was,
and what could of been,
but reality exists.
So the option was never really hopeful.
Yet still we exist at 7:08 am
whilst I read Seamus Heaney
and write the days away.
Days not of ours,
days not of anyone’s anymore.

Advertisements

One Comment to “7:08 am.”

If you enjoyed the poem. please leave a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: