:: August 3, 2007 ::

It was a day bright
Like glitter on the road,
A day sharp like your wit.
But its stallion muscles burned
Beneath its first-rate hide-
Thick, shimmering, pure gold-
Begging to be untamed.
And I thought- what a day!
To ride into the night,
To run away with,
To never return- not ever.
I ate a tasteless something for breakfast
And took a sip of something
That did nothing to quench my thirst-
But rather made it worse.
Then I sulked back to bed
Defeated- A joke of a dreamer.
The morning was waiting,
Face pressed to the window pane,
Silent, other than to hum along with
Sparrows when they'd sing,
Leaving footprints in the parched grass.
The day refused to moved until I did
And that took quite some time.
I stumbled out onto the floor,
Unfamiliar and cold beneath my pampered feet
And struggled to provide the day
With something to satisfy it's hunger.
When that didn't work
I tried to dissuade it from running wild.
It snorted at my cowardice.
It laughed at my, well, my everything.
Like I said:
I'm a joke of a dreamer.
I stomp out my own fires
Once they burn around my ankes.
I fear if the flames reach my knees
They will consume me.
I'd rather write of
How to waste the day
Thinking, brooding, eating, drinking,
Talking and never doing
Than dare to let my fingers
Intertwine with sunlight,
To mount this noble purpose
And ride like tomorrow will never come.