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ONE MORE DAY
One more day attaches itself to my book of life,
Hours of joy, anger, laughter, with colleagues, kids and wife.
The sun descends and takes away a part of me,
Leaving me alone to read night's elegy.
Jonathan Swift wept on his birthday and I feel,
Like calling and talking to him about all I conceal -
From those who are not able to understand what I say,
Perhaps they may, like I understand Swift today.
Gray's lines composed for his friend move me,
Adding to my sense of despondency.
I stare out of the window and scan the road,
As the news about terror flashes like a sword.
I gaze at the sky above but I can't see a star,
The haze of city lights and dust stretch afar.
The night with its hours of darkness and light comes,
And I prepare myself to ward off boredom.
I understood you so well in this poem. Is truly a terrible feeling to feel there is nobody of your own kind around you who understands you and with whom you feel you can communicate your finest thoughts and lowliest fears with, without feeling like you are being judged for speaking them aloud. It really came home hard today for me in reading this poem. That yes indeed you are right, have been since day one. I do most truly 'get' you. I didn't realize until today how beautiful the word 'get' could be not until its application became so very clear for me as I read this poem here of yours and to think you wrote it nearly 9 years ago. To quote Don Henley here what can I say 'I just have to look good I don't have to be clear!'
and I do believe I'll leave it at that.
you know who!..........so why type it?