#33: The glass, all empty June 30th, 2008
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Embarrassingly, it took a lot longer for me to realize that the first song on Reconstruction Site is a sonnet than it took for me to write one.
Another day’s insistent rays incite
my grudging eyes to open, blurring red
dawn-glow with blood. I stumble from the bed;
I squint; I groan; I try to stand upright.
What drug, what magic spell makes sun less bright?
This water glass will have to do, instead.
One sip, and stars explode inside my head.
I blink; I stall; I drink it all in spite.
But when I’m done and set it down at last,
I see that it was magic all along:
a thousand rainbows dance across the wall.
The morning sun, refracting through the glass!
Both optimists and pessimists are wrong.
The glass, all empty, turns out to be full.