The Morning After

The Morning After

I woke to the sound of nothing at all,

Just a stare from across the room,

Feathers tangled in every direction,

Like sleep had lost a battle with the wind.

You stood there without a trace of shame,

Not bothered by the wild look you wore,

A tiny soul wrapped in glorious chaos,

Turning disorder into something adored.

The world expects neat lines and order,

Smooth edges and polished display,

Yet you arrive with your unruly crown,

Refusing to conform for a single day.

Your eyes half open, heavy with dreams,

Holding secrets you never will share,

A silent comedian in bright colours,

Finding joy in simply being there.

Each feather points toward its own journey,

A hundred directions, none the same,

A reminder that perfection is fragile,

While character leaves a lasting name.

You never ask to be admired,

Never seek applause or praise,

Still every glance brings a smile,

Lighting the dullest of days.

Perhaps we are not so different,

You and I beneath the skin,

Both carrying storms nobody notices,

Both hiding where the cracks begin.

Some mornings life leaves us scattered,

Pulling thoughts in every direction,

Leaving us feeling worn and untidy,

Far removed from our reflection.

Yet there is beauty in surviving it,

In standing despite the strain,

In wearing every mark of living,

Without disguising joy or pain.

So keep your crooked feathers proudly,

Keep that sleepy, stubborn stare,

The world has enough perfect pictures,

What it needs is something rare.

A little bird with a messy crown,

Teaching lessons without a sound,

Showing that worth is never measured,

By how smoothly life’s feathers lie down.

#Marie381UkWriter