Cyndi Macmillan Poet Free verse

The Yield

Night rewrites day, transforms the blues
with ink-wash, urges me to forget 

grapples, tasks, drudgery,  
hard surfaces and hardened people as all things 

soften, lighten, blur— even gravity pulls less 
as if the world’s core has pardoned the hefty afternoon.
  
Sheets pouch this body, pillows 
accept every sigh.  Sleep is a leave-taking,

a poetic restoration of sense and mindfulness.
Faultless, this need to submit, this appeal to let go.  Just let it go.

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Regina Mcintosh July 24, 2022 at 6:10 PM Lovely :) God bless you. Love, Gina

Judy Ball January 14, 2022 at 3:30 PM Ahh the end of a trying day and the return of night. A time to rest, recoup. Tomorrow is another day and a chance to do better. Good stuff. God Bless, JB

FJ Thomas December 2, 2020 at 4:21 PM So long you've been gone. Missing your perspective, your unique words in general. Be safe Cyndi. ~Flo

Richard Lamoureux April 22, 2020 at 8:42 AM Have you really been gone for this long? The soup is in need of an infusion of flavour. I do hope you will return. Blessings Rick.

S.Jagathsimhan Nair April 27, 2019 at 4:11 AM Hi Cyndi, Enjoyed reading. hope all is well with you.

Agnes Krampe September 27, 2018 at 8:31 AM Cyndi, so happy to read from you again - i missed your voice. This is amazing. I love the image of gravity pulling less, it captures the feeling exactly. Hope all is well with you.