Sunday

warm glows on a bedroom window

sore muscles in a sleepy daze

wiping away rest from my eyes

I brace for monotony 

I change but Sundays don't

the look in my eyes is shallow

passer-bys taking turns swinging open the chapel doors

children haphazardly dancing in the streets

I walk opposite to them with the same Sunday blade in my pocket

I could use it

but this Sunday I won't

these days don't change

all Sundays stay the same 

Reviews

[William Liston]

Wow. I liked how you conveyed the feeling of boredom in this poem--it was as if life was just passing you by and all you could do was watch with a complete lack of interest. Boredom is not an easy feeling to convey in a poem, so I highly applaud you on this poem. I look forward to reading more from you. Great job on this, L. D.

-William Liston