Today is the day. So it is written:
Today the breeze and the sunlight
Will frivolously play;
Teasing lonely leaves on trees...
Making them appear like butterflies…
Trapped by their spindly legs…
Their veined wings flickering pale sunlit greens…
Fluttering desperately to be released.
They sense it is the time.

This day will start as normal:

The morning mist will tumble…
Invisibly…
Up the valley…
Camouflaged by the darkness...
Preparing itself for its dawn roll...

To. Be. Seen.

The owls will cease their calling,

And turn their minds instead…
To daydreams;
Amid the rustling trees

Their gentle breath is lost.

And as the day is woken,
As the black is broken,

The shades of grey bring up the light to show the misty scene,
across the way…
behind stone walls…
technology blinks and shrieks a morning call.
It is started.

There will be the usual waking…
In subdued, and unwelcomed light…
Feet will touch chilly tiles upon the floor…
Night, will simply be no more…
He will slouch, unwillingly,  towards the bathroom door…
Water, hot, into a bowl he'll pour…

And squinting fiercely he will see, in the steamed up mirror,
His aging face, bleary eyed and bloated...

More...
He will shave hairs from his chin, and will feel the final frisson…
Of last night’s passion…

Of last night’s ration…

Of her! Of her! Of beautiful her!
The memory will make him smile –
(maybe inside, or maybe out, that is unwritten)

The clock moves on.....

© Griffonner 2024