Mornings come with an achy invitation
to rise and spend the day upright.
Mornings cement any concrete movement
toward goals to be reached by eve.
Mornings bring coffee and sunrise
with a brief stretch of work until;
afternoon comes in for a duration
that offers what the day can bring.
Afternoons show how the day will go
and yearnings that dreams will continue.
Afternoons bring a whisper of rush
and a burning toward the horizon of dusk.
Mornings come to afternoon,
inviting the day last long;
till evenings come to close the door
on whatever the day allowed for.
This poem was posted for the previous week’s poetry prompt, Anaphora. As I stated on the prompt post, this one came from doing a workshop exercise. I’m not sure it has the predictability I intended but I decided to post it anyway.