On Mornings like These

On mornings like these,
I tend to bury my minutes in smoke,
Minutes which tick by,
With every door my poems knock,
And every rejection they face.
For you are across the ocean,
Working in a lab with a Prophet's vision.
And I, Frittering my youth,
In useless causes,
Impossible revolutions for same-sex love,
And rights to prevent laborers losses.
On mornings like these,
I plan to write my songs,
To right my wrongs.
On mornings like these,
Do I scribble novels,
Which won't see the light of day,
And whisper words which,
You will never hear me say.
On mornings like these,
White lillies wilt on young graves
For mornings like these
Beg not to break into days.