- Non-Erotic Poetry
- SUNDAY
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SUNDAY
It happens every week.
A slow journey,
Culminating
With this one event.
This happening
That often flavors
The taste of the next
Destination.
Defines the road
By which we travel
With or without
A heavy burden.
Sometimes,
Forgotten promises
And barbed daggers
Thrown in frusteration
Aimed true in anger
Weigh heavily.
Othertimes
We are lighter,
Brighter,
Allowed to
Begin again,
Free of doubt.
Sunday.
j.b
- COMMENTS
Tom Collinsabout 18 years agoI see the shape of a long relationship and wish I could identify with this on more than an intellectual level. *sigh*
Anonymousover 18 years agoyou know how much i understand and can feel your emotion in this poem...!
