I cry the waterworks so necessary to the healing of my heart. I explode with the fireworks required for anger to set living boundaries. I sleep the sleep of angels, as I link to dreamworks allowing mental maintenance to occur. Slipping into my political face I make time for public works. I return to my abode, call the pie maker and order ‘the works.’ Have it delivered so I can face the mountain of homework waiting for me and bearing my name.
Suggest solutions in your diary.
No Dialing Tonight.
When it is late at night and I can’t sleep
I wander and putter and plan my dreams.
I hold out hopes and wash their faces;
pray for rain and clean all traces.
Thunderstorms rumble and lightning strikes;
I tune up the plumbing and wipe down the pipes.
All the paint and promises in the world won’t change me;
I’m still lost in the dark without you.
Tear stains are friendly till I wash them away
leaving blotchy eyes that can’t be explained;
an aching heart that keeps on ticking
and wishes that can’t come true.
Sunday morning is here, too soon
and life rolls on whether you think it should.
Tiny thoughts come out to play
and sad, sad fears keep them at bay.
But the dog is curled up under the covers without a care;
I long to disturb her but do not dare.
She is the queen here and I’m but the naïve;
I’ll tend to my writing and try to be brave.
For the dawn will follow this endless nocturne;
the whole world will be safe once more.
I will cry but it’s all too late;
though you are merely a phone call away.