The notebook lies open in front of me
Waiting for my pen move across
It's trail, so to speak, a kind of destiny
Leaving me to decide, with not much of a choice

In the darkness last night
Cocooned in my prison of thought
I remembered the fading light
From orange to black, with grief wrought

The grief, I could not explain
Cerebrations fade into incoherence
Happiness is free for all, as is pain
In my world, through my twisted lens.

The morning, however, sliced through me
In my head, a flavour like never before
The night of yesterday, it never did be
A new day today, the grief is of yore.

The notebook is now closed
There is nothing to write
For the dolour that would have splashed it
Has now died.