Should tomorrow come: A poem by Mike Cole

Crimson red fades to midnight blue

Caught in twilight, night wakes

Breathing, calculating, ever holding

Dreams stir and the world begins to turn

Shadows creep, daylight seeps.

Tomorrow seems so far, yet the first hint of morning’s light.

Morning. Morning has come and gone.

As I roll out of bed: A short poem by Mike Cole

As I roll out of bed, sheets unmade

I look around, yet find no aid.

My foot gets caught and I fall

I hear a snap, and begin to crawl.

 

I wonder to myself, is this a dream?

Perhaps I’d believe, if I didn’t scream.

I reach for my coffee  while out of bed

Whoops, down goes the coffee on my head.

 

The heat would be refreshing, if it didn’t burn.

My, oh my, when will I ever learn?

 

Let it be told and not unsaid,

this is why I never get out of bed.