To My Alarm Clock
Every morning I lie there innocently sleeping
when the peace is ruptured by a horrible beeping.
My serenity ripped asunder, sudden and drastic
by this evil, demonic, red-eyed piece of plastic.
I roll over in pain and pound on the snooze,
Groaning, moaning, thinking ‘What’s there to lose?’
‘Don’t make me get up, just nine minutes more.’
The same thing I’ve said every morning before.
It’s not that I hate mornings or dread the new day.
It’s just that I loathe waking up in this way.
I’d much rather simply rise up with the light,
Glowing in the window, chasing away the night.
But the sudden screaming, the incessant fuss,
Makes me want to yell and cry and simply to cuss.
Especially the knowledge that all of my sorrow
will be repeated the same time, same way, tomorrow.