Some days the sky
turns dark early.
Pink is obscured by gray.
Rain against the window,
clouds hanging low.
The kind of day
that makes you want
to crawl back into bed.
Life is good.
I know that.
There are poems to write.
Breakfast needs to be made.
A few things
that need doing.
So I get up
and grind them out.
The marketing
and promotion never ends.
And the numbers
from the market
are constantly whispering.
Bitter coffee
drips into the pot.
The cats are fed.
A few things crossed off
the to-do list.
But something inside of me
speaks in a whispered drawl.
Slow down.
You don’t have to
conquer the day.
You don’t have to
go anywhere.
The rain will still be waiting
when you wake up.
Maybe the day
is just a day
for letting the world
move without you.
So I lie back down,
pull the covers
over my head,
and pet the tiger
curled up beside me.
This gives me a crispy Fall kind of feeling, that moment when you feel like you’re going to live a thousand years. Hard-earned rest is never a waste. Even tigers need beauty sleep. Always happy to see a poet in gratitude.
Hi thomas
I see you are writing since years and you are pretty much old.
I just want to say who ever writes is not a writer. A pen in writer’s hand thinks and watches before writing because what you write may also make few people die..you need to use your pen properly rather becoming a criminal to write whatever you think. Because killing is easy but giving birt or mak8ng alive not even possible to normal person.
Its my constructive criticism.
Jessy Jacob
hi, I am sorry for my comment above.
it was too much from side it hurted me after seeing your poem, what is going on in this world. for someone fun you hurt others.
Beautifully penned, Thomas. Another excellent write with amazing storytelling my friend. Sometimes you have to take a day off. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian