I am told to keep things in perspective,
as sounds of early traffic are replaced
by dead silence.
Coffee waters this town, a million cups filled
as people stay home– reading books, brushing up on skills
despite the horror,
a situation which seems never-ending, glued to television.
I greet the day,
listening as white-heaven bound birds continue to grace me
with their presence,
and look out the window to see cassia trees sway boldly
in the wind–
I wash the dishes and mop the floor,
as I sip another concluded day and rest my head on a pillow.
Strike me with your words full of warmth,
your eyes unremitting in their viridian desire
strike my ruby lips with your own,
until the bedlam stops: until the bedlam stops.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Skylover Wordlist: Strike 💝
Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United