Poetry

At Last

Rosalyn Morris
May 17, 2024
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

The day is over at last.
I can finally get out of my head
and go to bed.

The day has worn me out,
and I have nothing left to give.

I’ve paid the toll,
with my daily toiling,
so the boom gate can raise,
and grant me access into dreamland.

Though the days are mostly TV ads,
not memorable feature-length films,
the hours bleeding one into another,
sometimes they do run long.

Sleep, on the other hand, is often too brief
and sweet dreams
too seldom.

leave a coffee tip here :-) ☕️✨

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