one day
you wake up
all ached
and word-
s l u m b e r ed
still yawning—
yet realising
you couldn’t live
without living
v e r s e
you should’ve fixed
that purple
alarm clock by
your bedside
t a b l e
when there was still
time to save those
stanzas from
the literary
b l a z e
poor Poetry—
the one
you forever
took for
g r a n t e d
won’t you
wake up
before it all
burns down to
a s h e s ?
hopefully
not too late—
a lyrical
wake-up call
from your poetic
d a z e
A l l p o e t r y . . .
. . . N o p o e t r y
g r e y
p o e t r y
h o p e f u l l y
y o u ’l l
w a k e u p
l y r i c a l l y
f r e s h
T o d a y
LannaZee 