Looking up
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Poem:		42567
My beginning and my end, my start, my finish. Its blankness in the morning Peaceful, undemanding, respectful Letting me adjust to the sometimes blessed Sometimes cursed, but always confusing Day. Drawn gently from the blindness of sleep It is my first sight As it is my last at night When my day is played out one last time In its spackling. Familiar shapes and faces spring From its once quiet blankness To whisk me away to dreams. Whatever inspiration is to be had in the Day, I find it there in two deep looks. Truly, my ceiling Is the most wonderful thing in the world.
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