i woke, not from a recumbent state
but from the gray in light, a closed
door, a down shade on the window
that obscure the stars of night
for so long i’ve lived in reverie
where peddles on a white lily
are pristine, the azure sky hides
and dispels a daring hue and thus
darkness is hidden from the blue
i hear the cries of hunger some unheard,
the screams of anguish from death’s hand,
a child is not a wolf left alone in the woods,
the aged all alone on streets of cobblestone
no one sees them, no one cares except the lonely
i woke, not from a recumbent sleep
but from voices of the dark trying to scare
the light. it is i who must not be burdened
by fear, shall lift the shade and open the door
so that light pierces the dark letting ingress
and egress to be free 
