Dawn bleeds through the blinds,

Children's laughter a sharp contrast

To the ache in my bones.

The scent of roasting beans,

A cruel reminder of the day ahead.

 

My body screams a silent protest,

Each joint a rusty hinge,

Each muscle a taut wire.

I yearn for the soft touch of rest,

But the stones call.

 

Sand grinds between my teeth,

A taste of what's to come.

My hands, calloused and scarred

Are a testament to labor,

Not the gentle caress of a lover.

 

I dream of hands that write,

Not wield a hammer

Of nails that point to ideas,

Not drive steel.

But the dream fades,

And I'm left with the reality

Of another day's grind.

 

I drag myself from bed,

A body already broken,

A spirit resigned.

Coffee, bitter and hot

A temporary salve.

Another day begins.