(journey Inwards Collection) .... Waking Poem by Janice Windle

Quiet but not silent,
the morning breaks into my dreaming consciousness.
The murmur and beat of waves on rock
transmutes to a steady distant drone.
Where are the crows of the cockerels? Those high cries
articulated clear as in an infant's story book,
have changed to the calls of children at their gates
bound for their day of routines, friends and play,
doors slamming,
carried away
from the quiet suburban street.

Eyes open, at last,
no surprise or regret that I am alone,
only that I am in the present
and must wake from my past and future life,
all dreaming gone.