five-thirty AM
and i haven’t a friend
just the cruel crux
of dawn creeping onward
the sun has its way
ever to my dismay
for what dreams have been left
at the altar
with all its demands
comes the day
to spent hands
and my soul cannot fathom
to muster
any semblance of self
through this pittance of health
in a world
overwhelming with bluster
if given the choice
i would find my rejoice
in the arms of the darkness eternal
alas, it remains
this infernal refrain
in the backdrop façade
of life vernal
Max, or Not 