Mondays are just young Fridays

Damp, cold,
diminished. Weary
to the core. Lost or
misplaced; haven’t we all
known better days?
Very little left
to protect your self or
your sanity. Bones are
strong, the soul
is softer, less resilient,
capable of absorbing
truth and fallacy. Fact
is not always safe.
We have all
witnessed better days.
When the lowest low
becomes your highest
state, there is not
the tenderness required
of faith. We need
to be held to find a place,
we need the purpose
of today.

04/22/2019                               j.g.l.

APRIL IS POETRY MONTH
each and every damned day

 

 

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