Posted in Of Writingly

Fatigue

Sleepless Nights
Sunless Mornings
Curled up against my pillow
Faint yellow falling on my face
Through the windows.

Why doesn’t the world stop
For the extra fifteen I lay my head?

Why does anger and resentment come streaming past
In an unmorned mind that only wishes for a little death?

Joints creaking
The yellow still streaking
A warm skyful
Will do them good.

But, joints must follow
Where the unquiet head goes
To cold, dark rooms
Of unmindful progress.

Muscles tear
Nerves throb
Engines blare
Through the hurried mob.

My fatigue
They blame on vitamins
Or lack of.

My melancholy
On a juvenile will
That never stops.

Author:

Writer, Blogger, Kate Bush Fanatic

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