"July. White curtains..."

July. White curtains. Melancholy.

The stale air is hard to breathe.

Alone I sit and stare at Holly,

Who’s doing homework, while I grieve.

Two weeks remaining. Birds are chirping.

It’s four a.m. I’m counting sheep.

Is it my conscience-- so disturbing?

My eyes are red from lack of sleep.

Spread fingers hold the heavy Norton.

Her other hand is on her lips.

While I am left to die from boredom.

Outside, the pale sunrise creeps.

The sun will rise before we know it

This day will be consumed by time.

But, until then, let’s steal a moment

From lifeless verse and boring rhyme.

I strain my eyes from lack of sleep

July. White curtains. Melancholy.

Four twenty-five. I’m counting sheep

Alone I sit and stare at Holly.