Feeling Forlorn
By John Herlihy

When I wake up in the morning, I sometimes feel forlorn,
As if every fiber of my body has been ripped and torn.
The wind howls outside my window; it has no name,
Why then does it shake and rattle my windowpane?
I am being silly, storms do not speak, they do not live,
Why then do I tremble as if the day has nothing to give.
Even the house knows something as it creaks and moans;
It gathers its own forces and speaks in expressive tones.
I still lay quietly under the covers in a protective cocoon;
But the moment will come to get up and it will arrive soon.

The mystery of the mind has its own life, its own way,
One moment lifts us to the clouds, the next nothing to say.
When we go to sleep, we are never sure to awaken,
Why then, when we do wake up, we simply feel forsaken.
The birds chirp, trees crack, there is laughter in the distance;
My surrounding life goes its merry way with some persistence.
The house seems to know something as it weathers the storm;
The roof held the weight of snow without feeling forlorn.
It is built for this kind of weather and I am built for more,
Strong and wild, I breathe deep and put my feet on the floor

Remember who I am, where I am, why I am no longer forlorn;
A new day begun, light conquers darkness, I am again reborn.