Monday

Monday is coming,
sitting with my thoughts,
crying, feeling sad.
Whatever it is, it still resides,
naming me impossible.
Monday a reminder.

Monday tells me it’s another
week before you are back.
Push it aside. Deal with it later.
Forget all together.
Is Monday too comfortable?
Is this why?

It isn’t really important,
praying to be forgotten.

Forgotten. Lost.
It’s up to me;
you don’t understand,
the one who listens.
I hear our conversation,
unable to move along.

A river of confusion,
swirling waters drown.
You replace tough questions
with no easy answers.
I am lost and not found.
I, passing by and by.

No concrete way to see,
this painting misinterpreted.

As color on color
mixed into a lake
washing away distraction.
You fluff the pillows,
offer a drink?
No thank you. i’ll pass.

Some day i’ll move on.
i’ll pass. i’ll pass. i try.

Poetry

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