|Photo by: epSos.de of Flickr|
"On a Morning Jaunt to Vocation"
The brilliance is too much. It pierces through
The flimsy, fleshy shield into our minds.
We rise, stumble, stagger--we can’t construe
What villain is to blame for parted blinds.
A muttered curse, a frosty shock, to shake
The treach’rous grasp of Somnus’ iron chains.
Defiant men wield countless blades to take
The whiskers from their squalid, unkempt miens.
Forsooth, the morning’s journey disheartens.
‘Tis fraught with boorish straphangers in force,
But bear the nuisance ‘til the journey’s end,
And thou shall reap the bitter, saving source--
An inky brew of Strenua’s domain,
A single quaff of which will spur thy brain.