In the Small Hours of Labor Day's Dawn



In the small hours of Labor Day's dawn

Before the cock crows, sleep veils morn

Within that sultry stillness, a quiet harking

A flooding of messages - some sparking



As mind receives vibrations with a slight buzz

And lint collects around edges - forming fuzz

Crying out to make amends for complications

Singing songs veiled with deep consternation



In the small hours of Labor Day's quieter dawn

Visitations of certain mindsets undercut thorns

And the spikes embedded under a so soft skin

Break through gently - jarring nerves frayed thin



Before the cock crows, and before clocks bellow

The words needed to be said ooze from under pillow

And the joy of a peaceful sleep is shattered by needs

To squeeze out the thoughts - as a heart now bleeds



- Tristram



(c) Christopher W. Thomas

4:20am Monday, Sept. 7th, 1998



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