Morning

Why were mornings created?
It's a question that pops
Into my mind
Every morning
When my eyes are forced to open,
Even when they don't have to.
When the sun is in the east
And I wish my windows
Pointed west.

But, alas,
I can't rue
The fact that morning exists.
It being the beginning
Of another day,
Of new things to come.
And soon the night,
When I become more alive.
But I still hate mornings
And I have to live with it.