Molasses
When all the bells
And all the whistles
Are packed away
And put back in their wrappers
Where is my wandering attention bound to go
Faced with the prospect of entering another cold winter season
With no sun to heal these festering lesions
And I am not saying life is all bad
Rather it is a hard time of year
Where dreams turn into clashes
And the springs in a once proud mattress
Make even sleep feel like molasses
Maybe tomorrow my angel will come
And I will look back on this
As nothing more than the ramblings of bliss
Copyright © Christopher Flaherty | Year Posted 2012
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