Morning Come

I dreamed myself awakened
In an old, unknowing place
Smoke and incense in my hair
And charcoal on my face
I ate of bread and drank of wine
Slept on a bed of wood
I did away with everything
I ever understood

I then awoke to find myself
As always in a room
A heat unseasoned pressing
From my curtains in the gloom
My bulb was white, my walls were bare
My ceiling cracked and mean
I knew at once my only place
Was back inside that dream

Yet sixteen hours I was awake
Sixteen hours I worked
My eyes I lowered to the ground
Laid down my search for words
I ate when I was hungry
I drank when I was dry
I made myself to stay awake
Until my time of night

Yet morning come I woke in sweat
Unmoving, run aground
The sun shone pale and yet I saw
No light nor heard a sound
I lay there still for hours more
Begging for release
At last I rose, I quit my door
And threw away my keys

I don't know how much time has passed
Since I last had a home
I pity those who must remain
Encased in brick and stone
I never knew that dream again
But I can still recall
The meanness of my ceiling
And the whiteness of my walls