Thursday Revisited

Big black dog of a day,

As Thursday crumbles in my hands,

And plans within,

Ooze through sinking fingers like blood,

And soak into dusty ground,

There to grow,

Into wild, savage fantasies,

Which seep into dreams,

And trouble the slammed shut door,

Of my security.

But it will pass,

Sky will clear,

Or, at least, shelter come,

Eyes and mind slowly refocus,

Peace uncertainly return.

Then when, resignedly, silence settles,

Still stubborn lingering whispers persist,

Becoming background sound,

Dripping softly behind the walls or words,

And the simple,

Everyday things,

Soak them up.


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