Coffee Filled Pockets ( Dramatic Monologue )

A brisk cold damp morning arises
faster than I could. For here I stand,
still trying to awaken from my slumber.
I slept through the darkness, as dark as my heart,
yet almost a drab gray like concrete.
Torn asunder to plow more bodies to the earth.
I have coffee filled pockets,
to awaken any coin for wishes in fountains springing.
Though these wishes are wasted on thoughts of peace.