Sunday's Lament

 

I could sit here, waxing and waning
All the day through; the dark turns my head too much
Nothingness is distracting, but I continue to stare
and wonder when it is coming; contemplation
of comets and nebulas in sinful silence
A reflection of what has been


Quiet times, sitting at the other end of the house
instead of hosting and smiling as I should have done
Listening to cracked-out voices in the dead of night
and wishing I had made more of the things around me
watching them fade and disappear, in corners of eyes
that are desperate to hold on, yet realise too late

The old player cites a well-known song
It starts with such a familiar tone
Reminds me of cleaning for dinner parties
always a whiskey on the side of paprika scented rooms
and the background beat of the vacuum cleaner
Oatmeal carpets scrubbed to the left - then right

What was I feeling in that split second?
The peaceful moment before tragedy struck
and life was forever changed; shattered
It seems such a time ago now, since I began pulling corners
Yet yesterday looms large in it's wake

There is much staining to be contemplated
and scrubbed at; wrung out and soaked
I haven't written anything; I sat with pen in hand for years
Nothing happened; there is then and ... there is now
I need to figure out the inbetween
and pour a Sunday's lament from my soul

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010