Dawn.

The dawn creeps up on us, and we do not wish to acknowledge its coming.
Why do we roll, pull the sheets over our eyes, hide ourselves from something beautiful?
It comes, but we deny it; we'll meet it when we're ready, on our terms.
It fills us with joy, if we are happy to accept it; with resentment if we long for just a few minutes more of darkness.

Why do the birds greet your dawn so early? And must I resent them for their joy? Only, they shouldn't be happy yet, not till I too am ready to see your sun. They annoy me now, so full of their righteousness, because they have no shame, no pride, and love to leave early from the dark.

I'm tired of the dark. I'm ready for the dawn, but I do want to sleep. I hate my slothfulness. I hate that I've missed so many sunrises. I hate that I've wasted hours. You do realize, it will take all of your blood to erase this. But, I don't want to be separated, and you say you don't, so let it be enough.