Sunday, February 9, 2014

On a typical Sunday evening

Walking the long path back
from reprieve you thought well earned
ever steady on the track
and so gracefully returned
one wonders about purpose
and the course lives must take
barely scratching at the surface
of a heart too tired to break

Again we pass into the night
with sadness setting in
all glasses once full now empty
except sorrow's at the brim
elsewhere there is warmth and life
in strangers' beds so far away
yet there is no such delights
in the one where I must lay

the morning will bring no comfort
as the black burns to gray
walking the long path back
wishing for a different way