Sunday

Sunday

A Poem by Anna

Does Sunday lose its meaning when the endless summer ends?
The day that only holds importance when the sun has gone away;
it erodes the feeling of daylight, but now the light bends,
and the woven blankets, the soft blue night, cannot stay.

Is this ache the same emptiness that I used to let grow?
The dark shadows I pacified with words I could always say;
it began as a constant, like all other comforts I know,
until the Monday morning revealed the deserts cradled in May.

© 2018 Anna


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i liked your play on words,and i wonder to
sunday summers are great days

Posted 6 Years Ago



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Added on January 30, 2018
Last Updated on January 30, 2018
Tags: sunday, life, depression, haze, blue, gold, light, moon, night, may, august

Author

Anna
Anna

Raos Crest, Nowhere



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