I’m waiting for the day
the sun doesn’t rise.
I’m sure it will be like any other:
cold dew on the grass,
coffee in the morning,
quietly waking in the dark
to pull on thick knit sweaters
and scratchy wool socks.
I won’t miss it.
I won’t miss the gradual warmth
and the golden smudge of light
on the floorboards.
I won’t miss the sun’s flame
methodically lighting the world’s candle.
You confessed once,
when you thought I was asleep,
that you tell a lot of lies.
I couldn’t understand
until now.
the sun doesn’t rise.
I’m sure it will be like any other:
cold dew on the grass,
coffee in the morning,
quietly waking in the dark
to pull on thick knit sweaters
and scratchy wool socks.
I won’t miss it.
I won’t miss the gradual warmth
and the golden smudge of light
on the floorboards.
I won’t miss the sun’s flame
methodically lighting the world’s candle.
You confessed once,
when you thought I was asleep,
that you tell a lot of lies.
I couldn’t understand
until now.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.