Morning, Mourning
Shadows cast
a cold gray
pall against
yellowed paint,
staining my mind
with the
bitter taste
of morning.
Slowly,
with the
calculating steps
of a convict
staggered footsteps
from faded
disheveled sheets,
to a fractured
mirror,
a tawdry face
ephemeral smile
sadly stares
back at me
with ambiguity.
covertly,
she carefully
assesses my
estimated worth,
remembering
prudently,
every unpaid debt,
reminding me
with bankrupt
emotions......
the juice in which I stew
all because of you
A pundit,
she is my
greatest critic...
How did I
get nowhere,
so damn fast,
going someplace?
But somewhere
between
stale coffee
and
week old news,
I gather my courage
to greet a new day.
Challenge Phrase: the juice in which I stew
host: Alwaysmywords
By Cheryl Stewart
© 2009 Cheryl Stewart
(All rights reserved)
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