Sestina on a Bad Start to the Day

I awake

To the urgent tone of my mother’s voice

Telling me to rise.  The sun

Is already casting its blinding light

Into the room, illuminating

The walls with its brilliance.

My breakfast is an explosion of oats, nuts, and fruity brilliance

As I awake

To the illuminating

Glow of a computer screen.  The voice

Of Linda Pastan conveyed through electronic light-

Black markings that speak of a coerced sun.

Eternally rising, and eternally falling, the sun

Is burdened by its brilliance,

Burdened by its light,

And is awake

To a voice

Yet higher than itself. It continues illuminating

In hopes of illuminating

And hiding the sad life of a sun

Whose voice

Has been lost to brilliance

Yet lower than itself- awake

To a reasoning light

Not light,

But laborious in its undertaking.  The illuminating

Light catches my eye, my mind not yet awake

To the sun

And its bright, bright brilliance,

Or the scratchy, screeching voice

Of the tumbleweed in front of my car.  The voice

Groans under the light,

Crushing weight of my car, shining in the brilliance

Of the illuminating

Sun.

The car may be awake

And roaring with brilliance permeating its voice,

But I am not awake and the light

Blinds my eyes to the illuminating headlights separating from the sun.