A bed and a book and a look back on the day.
Which turns and twists
Did i manage well,
Or not at all.
Did i do
What i planned
Or was i forced to flow
With
The new and unknown
And all these words sometimes seem so futile.
What if no-one reads them?
What if its just me again,
Just me
All alone?
I am though.
Alone.
My head is hanging now
And my eyes
Concentrate more on the darkness
Of the coming night
Than on my nightly inventure.
Never go sleep with unfinished business on your mind.
Sort it out.
Rectify and be grateful.
Still my head hangs.
One page more
I do
And out with the light
On to my back
And ask
For the presence of Angels.
Goodnight sweet Sunday.
