Saturday
It is the beginning of another week of Mondays
And I am trapped in this time zone. Saturday's are a far off place, and
Sundays are light years away.
It is a time of dark mornings, and even darker nights.
There is no escape.
Every fiber of my being is crying out for freedom and sunshine.
The smell of apple blossoms in the spring,
and the smoke from leaves burning in the fall.
And if Saturday came tomorrow........
then I fear it came too late.
Lynn Barany
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
