Inside The Room Early Morning

when you wake up this morning
you decide not to lift your finger
your body frozen inside
your thoughts
you spread your arms like a cross
fix your gaze in the ceiling
light enters through the leaks of
the walls
like warrior rods of flashes of
lights
this is spectral,
something sacred
when you let the morning
do things
the way it likes it
when you feel like a cross nailed
in bed
alone and so
naked

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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