"Someday ..."
          the relentless message to myself,
          interrupting static,
         complex ... with short circuit.
The hours and cycles of each seven days ...
         days which burn so quickly within the oven of each week
         unleaven bread, flat and tasteless  lies dry against my tongue.
The tasty morsels, rich with cream,  laced with sweet ....
         exist  in my fading memories.
My dull heart never surges with  youth's current of anticipation.
My mind seems numbed, bored with routine,
         willfully surrendered to abandoned dreams.

I dwell within the four walls of my tomorrows;

         days filling weeks, hours filling days,
         months filling years, weeks filling months.
         denying my purpose, binding my restless
         melodies and pen ... averting my eyes.
Cramped hands hold harsh blinders longside my eyes;
My own grip guides my gaze blankly on endlesss
         stretching years of angry safe surrender.
Grinding message, poetry of yesterday's errors
         hold my fetters secure and my river dammed with duty.

Yet, pricking, wooing, snaring me in unguarded

         moments, whispering my name ... siren silver
         notes trickle ... as crystal drops of icy water
         melting the dried crust of my mind ... while a
         chamber of my soul breathes,

"Wait .... Wait ....

         Someday ..."
This secret silent call ... presses
         sweet fingers of love's patience ... calming and
         stilling the jerking of my heart ... knowing ...
        someday the hour will come.
        someday ... I'll  lift my head,
        someday ... I'll smile and heed ...
                obey and follow ....
              Someday ...


Dallas Beth Williams Gibson


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