a week poem

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic



Curtain is askew its too dark to see but a blinding Monday light

A moan from beside you, you hate the shrill voice, another pounding head

Turn left, a glance, turn right, a sigh

Another trudge through these dreary days



You catch the first cry and slam your fist into its face

At least its not Monday

You stretch wider this time, scratch your head

The carpet morphs into a hollow clock



A faded whisper, a desperate plead

‘’Youre late’’

Scrambling, upright now a sharp pain in your foot

Was that lighter there before?



Sprightly for once, warm water to caress a bleary eye

The cry is full of pride now,

You gently send it away

The sky looks nice today



Its always easiest at the end,

A goofy grin wakes you up

You button your shirt with trembling fingers

Nearly there

Submitted: September 02, 2015

© Copyright 2022 Aleanscribe. All rights reserved.

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