Morning comes without
Risk or doubt
That day will come together
Bringing forth another letter
Mailbox sits idle upon the lawn
Its mouth an open yawn
For lack of mail reception
Deceptive in its lack of expectation
Taste this dawn’s breach of nightly rest
A breathe of boring hex
Upon the day ahead
I cannot draw enough of it
Cause without tone erupting
From my telephone I’m something
Less than satisfied
Anxiety ridden
An embodiment of
Something hidden
So toll that bell within my slender phone
A conduit to home
And healthy pleasures
Safety first
Ready measures
For angry thirsts
No comments:
Post a Comment