When I wake in the morning, before my eyelids part,
the first burgeoning thought plucks at the strings of my mind,
setting off a faint vibration.
The next one chimes in.
Then yet another,
Until there is a thrumming, humming chorus
of thoughts and concerns,
obligations and intentions.
Most days the hum is background,
the established white noise soundtrack of my life.
But some days the strings are plucked
one after another
a frantically discordant rhythm
an unhealthy resonance
of increasingly intense vibrations
until I wonder
Is this when I,
like a crystal goblet,
of jagged shards?