Morning Comes

Morning comes against all protest.
It comes with snarling vengeance
purloining the curtains with which
I have veiled my dreaming eyes.
Morning bites at my dreams,
justice served for an evenings self
destruction, and nips the fruitless
fingertips that rest under sweaty sheets.
The sun makes no debate of vantage
and devours my repose; chastises
my night. I awake, under fire of
hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen
I awake and take a solid breath
recoil at the brightness and curse
the punctuality of the morning sun.