Stacey Dye

Shadows clamber
through the windows,
cohorts of the rising sun.
They bring with them
troubles of a new day.

Odd that the advent of sunlight
bears such darkness.
Nighttime morphs into dawn
and twenty-four fresh hours
settle down upon me

as the huge black weight
I’m forced to carry
rides me hard--
spurs buried against my side
flat-out in a dead man’s run.