Every morning holds
a promise for me.
That unknown moment,
when I return to myself
and shuffle slightly
in the crumpled bed
as I wake up,
holds
the hope of a better day,
the power of my potential,
the lustre of letting go,
the largesse of love,
the fruit of forgiveness,
and the nectar of newness.
Every morning holds
a choice for me –
a choice of choosing
my freedom.
The morning shows me
the beauty of its promise
in the song of a bud
on the same shrub
that sees the withering
of a fragrant flower,
in the shine of the sun
that dispels darkness,
in the gurgle of a river
that is new every day,
in the flight of a bird
that celebrates a new sky.
And yet I hold on
to what I shouldn’t
and let go of
what I mustn’t.
I doggedly guard the pennies
in my tight fists
as pounds pass me by.
Every morning holds
a promise for me.
A promise that
I don’t keep.