Early Days
#4
The day repeats, eat, sleep and move.
Black thoughts breach my defence
Attack my citadel of sense.
A cactus thorn, the stylus in my groove.
It’s the same song, the notes somehow sadder.
The melody hollow
Confounds me, my mind, fallow.
The flow, wrong, words, blather.
The songbook scattered
Pick up the pages.
So many pages.
Order them, though ripped and tattered.
Rebind the book, forgive.
Resume the singing now and live.
