She polishes her ribbon, worn with time and care
And moves on to a plaque, a memory of what was there
She caresses the frame, closing her brown eyes
Neglecting the journey, praising just the prize
A soft dust hides her shoulders, from weight and wear and tear
Time is but a number, that once mattered somewhere
Her heart is trudging slowly, it too lost with age
As she holds a letter, perfumed in love and rage
'I love only the world', she mumbles to the air
'I was born to mend its wounds, destined to sooth its fear'
'You love only the world', repeats the empty space
'You were born to change its ways, destined to save its grace'
The light outside her window, is protecting her from day
Casting overshadows, on birds that dare to stay
The clock ticks by more slowly, the song racing to an end
Still she won't let go, preferring to play pretend
Her wrinkled hand lays dormant, his face hidden beneath
All of time can't mend, the wounds that she bequeathed
But day hasn't arrived yet, the truth is still asleep
The ribbons, plaques and frames, at night her company keep |
Submission Name: The Day is For Sleeping
