If love becomes a chore
This job I will love no more
Deadlines become dead ends
Unfinished work becomes trends
The peak of my undoing, the good left undone
At the top, a mountain with a view of the sun
Daylight pours through the window of my soul
My bedroom I’ve left behind, my regrets none
This love will move my pen if not my heart with a hole
Fill it with words of sundry
If none other than these pages love me
Even if some are of filth and muddy
I still play here, joyful as pigs and kids
Rubber boots and puddles mix
Betwixt the rain and sun are candids
Moments I appreciate in my craft
© The Sad Owl
Categories: poetry
The Sad Owl
I'm just here. Until I'm not.
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