Rising From A Tattered Bed


As I rise from my tattered bed
When the sun is barely shining
My dreams and nightmares have all fled
So my heart puts on a lining

Each day is new or so they say
Though many feel the same
Some memories I wish would stay
Others set to a flame

The morning begins to make its mark
As the sun lets out its gentle rays
In every river, in every park
The homes in which it stays

And as the sun sits upon its throne
In the middle of the day
It has power man has never known
Whatever games they play

Evening comes now soft and quick
As the sun lets out a dying moan
A beauty of which one does not grow sick
In the matter that is shown

Night arrives much too soon
As the stars are gently spread
Their beauty is left ample room
As I crawl back into my bed

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This Poems Story

I wrote this back when I was 18. It is about the progression of the day as well as the night and the beauty of each part.