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it’s too early for a Sunday morning

awake, lying in the bones of a week

the days are too regular, too hurried and unshining

they come on and on like slanted rain in my face

blinding me to things remaining simple

there are lessons to be found, somewhere

hidden in the rubble of me, in the playground

behind the ageless school of existence

- – -

I spend these hours absent of eloquence

missing the flavour of red roses

and green grasses and purple bruises

staying instead to be help to the masses

holding them back from themselves

being the razor to their stubble

a smile and kind words to their darkness

concealing all darknesses of my own

- – -

(ten word challenge)


Journal Comments

  • Pilgrim
  • davecurtain
  • helene
  • Bridget a'Beckett
  • Philosophy Lee
  • afthi