at the end of the day

 



there is nothing left to
wish for

there is nothing left to
battle against

there is nothing left to
hold onto

there is nothing left
to let go of

       ( there is nothing left to
                                    hope for
           there is nothing left to
                                    unhope for)

dreams pull up their covers
and go to sleep

the day is limp and bleached
 out
   lying stretched out across my
     lap like a old, tired cat looking
              for rest, love and comfort

the water of

streams

brooks

creeks

run lonely

as I sit here
       smoking,

         writing this
                 epitaph