March
Each day becomes dread realized,
hour by anxious hour. There is no relief
as the workday ends, for every morning
brings a new smell of dread. You are
too fragile now to live alone. The nerve ends
tingle their alarms at fingertips and ear lobes.
The lungs forsake their love of breath. The arms
resist throwing off the small weight of sheets.
The wrenched body screams its opposition
to the pale light and endless sequences
of small, physical steps. It screams,
but rises nonetheless to resolutely march.
hour by anxious hour. There is no relief
as the workday ends, for every morning
brings a new smell of dread. You are
too fragile now to live alone. The nerve ends
tingle their alarms at fingertips and ear lobes.
The lungs forsake their love of breath. The arms
resist throwing off the small weight of sheets.
The wrenched body screams its opposition
to the pale light and endless sequences
of small, physical steps. It screams,
but rises nonetheless to resolutely march.
Oh this dread. Lovely verse. ***
...the trump trump trump... I feel it, too. *
*, Gary. Excellent verse describing our slow march toward the inevitable.
Thank you, Rachna.
Thank you, Matt.
Thank you, David.
"the small weight of sheets." That brings it all into focus. Dig.*
The tingle in fingertip and ear lobe. Good poem, Gary.
Thank you, Tim.
Thank you, Sam.
"The lungs forsake their love of breath"
Yep *
Thank you, John.
"a new smell of dread", I like
Thank you, Kitty.
*
small weight of sheets
Thank, Gary.
pale light and endless sequences
*
pale light and endless sequences
*
Thank you,Gary.
"It screams,
but rises nonetheless"
Yes, it has to.
*
Thank you, Bill.
Until I read this, I had forgotten.
Small weight of sheets*
Thank you, Adam.