Pale grays hint towards the morning,
I'm awake, as the heavy drapes hold back the day.
He's still sleeping, the way he does everything,
as though the world could wait.
Less armoured in sleep,
the perpetual squint of scrutiny relaxed.
A mountain of a man beneath the covers,
vulnerable in a way the world never sees.
They think they know him—
the podium, the profile, the monument,
the hair in silhouette
—it's time to raise the bear.
What was he dreaming?
I learned never to ask
and guarded my own thoughts
—I have my own weather.
With barely opened eyes
he grabs his phone,
and the squint returns,
wondering how much he has won overnight.
Does the world want him?
Do I?
Shared with dVerse Poetics – Step Into The Lead
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
