Some days jangle like keys against your eardrums.
Others hiss when you wake to them,
Like the warnings of a startled cat.
Some are silent, like the sanctuary of a book,
Or as still as the cool and seamless mirror of the lake.
You may or may not choose to change them;
Emerging, from the sleep covered depths,
With a sword in one hand.
Some days bloom, filling the air with their butterfly lures
And trailing their pretty vines around you, tenderly.
Some days bite and others have a luminescence.
They might offer you vipers, or macaroons,
Succulents or splinters,
The damp gunpowder of disappointments,
Or whole hearts to sustain you,
As they beat in time with yours.
Each of them though
Deserves a place in your life.
All these orphans of time are yours.
Even this one.
However it greets you,
With a tip of its hat or the ragged words of sailors.
Only you can attend to it,
Opening the hours
Like the doors to different lands;
Beneath a roof of shadow and stars.
You will travel far, and yet, you will discover
That nothing you encounter
Is as marvellous, or as indomitable,
As you are.