A Poem. A Day.

My day. Started uneventful; ended in poetry.

A bright morning. Cold sun.
Dreams which won't let me forget sunrise while I sleep.
A slow awakening.
A message. Warms January.

History.
Tells stories I can't quite believe, and
Fiction.
Stories I want to believe.
More messages, memories, future predictions.
Pixels try to imitate human presence but lack the warmth.
The day tries to imitate summer.
Same story.

Notebook represents salvation. Ink-therapy.
Inspiration sits just beyond reach so I write what I know;
That the day is too short for prose.
Too short for poetry.
Too short for me.

The day is gone without the bang.
Bullet points.
Sleep.

Author's Note

Lend me your thoughts. Be brutally honest.

Reviews

[steph]

This poem is cool. I like the way it projects that their never seems to be enough time in a day to write a good poem... I like the deeper side of it too.