Monday—my mood hangs low and blue;
Unused keys spill on the table.
‘til Tuesday and a friend still true
Buoys me up and makes me able.
Wither Wednesday— the keys are lost,
Locked, dangling, and out of reach.
Thankfully Thursday in the wind tossed,
Blew, shaking a moment to teach.
Frigid Friday— keys firm in pocket;
Magic waning and heart explaining…
Latter-day Saturday lights a rocket;
Hope waxing and dreams restraining…
Sleepily Sunday I put in the key—
Keep driving, driving through eternity.
joel my dear, its not very often that i truly enjoy contemporary poetry written by young guys. you take the cake my friend. original, refreshing, quality.
ReplyDeletethat was amazing.
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