Serious mouths.
Sad shoulders.
Long faces hold yesterday's gaze
Eyes turn inward
Minds travel backward
Though the train pulls forward
The morning hangs on,
The night won't let go.
There is a small child clinging
To all of us.
A pressing moment Weighs on the poet To finish her sentence As she currently knows it Urgency quietly calls Through paper-made walls In a form that makes sense Of the daily rises and falls If left unfinished, it never will be For the way life unfolds so quickly.