Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Confession

On this Monday
I come clean
I'm not cut out
For Patience's sheen
Her glare makes aches
within my mind
Her d'mands ride hard
Brows start to grind.

On this one day
I confess
I let her down
I made a mess
Now take my skin
My eyes and hands
Lead me into
Sleep's promised lands.

Oh! This Today
Leave her here,
Let my heart
Change its gear
Slip into sheets
Wrap me 'n night,
Like the hollow tree
To soothe my plight.

4 comments:

Jenny said...

I always think of you as a much more patient person than you give yourself credit for. (I think really I am the worst in that department). I hope the sleep helped for a better today.

Rebecca said...

Oh patience comes and goes. Maybe it needs to go sometimes to reminds us where it is.

annalisa said...

Very cool tree. Where did you find that? I could so relate to that poem. Do all mothers feel a failure in the patience department?

Jill said...

When are you going to get your poetry published? You should have no problem with pictures or paintings to go with them. Seriously.