I wake in the dark of the morning,
feeling fragile, finicky, old,
as though in my dreams
I’d ripped out the seams
of all the years that were yet to come.
I search for you with my fingers,
feeling tiny and tragic and bold,
to find merely sheets
and my own sheepish bleats
and a sorrow for that left undone.
Poet's Note: Posting late once again. I blame...myself. I mean...who else is there? My muse? Huh. My muse...okay...it's her fault. Lol!
The prompt was to write a lyrical or song-style poem, or to write with music in mind. It seems I say this every day but this one was tough. I don't generally write song-style poetry...at least not deliberately. I think that takes a very particular talent...one I'm not sure I possess.
Still, I wrote something and since I read that most lyrical style poetry does rhyme...and because I enjoy rhyming...it rhymes! Does that count as filling the prompt? :-)