The weekdays are the worst
when the hustle and bustle
of my adult life gets to my head,
and my bed resembles a cage.
I don't want to go -
I don't want to face reality,
but I must, and I have to
because I am old enough
to understand.
Nothing happens here.
There is nothing spectacular -
nothing extraordinary to speculate
from my great window
beside my bed,
where I watch the sun's fine rays
peek through the clouds
and dance upon the meek surfaces
of the beaten and battered Earth.
All I want to do is stop -
All I want to do is rest,
for there is nothing to see here,
nothing more to do.
What more can a person do
when the days ahead seem bleak
and the darkness of the night
is the only thing that soothes?
Sister, tell Mother that I have fallen -
I need help getting back to bed.
Brother, oh brother -
Tell Father that his eldest daughter
has failed him.
I can not
go back
to bed.
