Lord Morphine

Good morning, it’s morning

Sigh, it’s every day.

Necessity wakes me

Nature annoys, demands

Bye, warm womb of blankets

I am birthed to the day

With bellow large lion yawns,

Ethereal Astral haze

Glaze the mind’s memory

Making that first right step

Surprise. Pain’s hurricane

Rips mental mist away.

Making the right foot fall

A torrent of angry stabs

And burnings  of hellish

Fire. Tendons and muscles

Fail. Fall cushioned by sleep’s

Smell on plush pillow shells.

An instinctive hand grabs

The amber clear bottle

Small dark purple pill chokes

Dryly down in two sore

Swallows. Hollow shadows

Whistles in wide waiting.

Wide waiting for the Duller

The duller of pain and life

Relief comes, sharp edge soothes

Tense light breaths become deep

Dense sighs. Fire and stabs are

Now watered and buffered.

All hail, the arrival

The unquestioned one king

His whims now owns the day

All hail, Lord Morphine.