Morning Dust

I say a prayer to the Holy One that he should rid me of my morning dust that weighs on me as i arise. The dust that gathers over the night,illuminating all my un-resolved demons,who want to join me for the coming day. The dust is heavy and not so easily wiped off, ancient in stature,going back to a darker time,when the whole Earth was filled with it. And yet, I awake and gather my forces. My sword of sanity which I carry close to my heart. My hat of reason which I wear tightly pressed against my ageing temples. Finally, I make it to the mirror,and remind myself of my human eyes, which only yesterday cried out of a crib of innocence.