Making Sense of It

Morning light has a way of waking
Abruptly reminding of times mistaken
Chiseling at the fetal form
To turn an honest man forlorn

Somewhere beyond the dreamy night
A familiar foe is just in sight
You’ve custom-built and set a place
For this you least appreciate

And at the hour which you chose
Your slumber stirred and mind confused
The daylight clears the fuzziness
To assure you your concerns persist

Doubts may smell of dampened air
And old ambition disappear
But these thoughts are painful as an ache
Which never healed by your mistake

On towards the day, we move quite fast
As if to disregard the past
Our trajectory is bad at best
Having failed again the morning’s test