by Harriet Street

i wish
i had slept.

but, i see the hazy blue,
i see the world come alive once more,
i hear the birds break the still
and beckon the day,
and i watch
what was once night,
become dawn.

it is times like this that i think,
who am i?
why am i here?
and the questions of the new day
push the darkness of my nocturnal mind
for another night.

and i think
of all these things
hidden behind the heavy eyelids
of sleepers drunk with slumber
and with pity,
i wonder –

if they knew,
would they wish
they had not slept?