The day was sad and wearisome,
It chilled me to my core,
I’d known that something would go wrong,
Though I could not be sure.
I’d felt so tired and lonely, still,
My heart had ached for him,
Beneath the Christmas trim.
The days are long, hot, and maddening,
the nights cloudy, starless, and sultry.
Sleep withheld behind a heavy dark veil.
Spirit weary in its empty aloneness.
Fleeting visions from happier times,
refuse to project, on the silver screen within.
Joy from dust-covered chapters, dissolves in decay,
upon the sagging shelves of remembrance.