WITHIN THE DULL AND DREARY DAYS



Within the dull and dreary days


when boredom seeks to call

it knocks upon the withered door

of hope that is no more.



Then can I see the dreams that live

within the sullen breast,

and know that they will haunt me now

and keep me from all rest.



It’s in desire, and wanting life

to be some other thing

that discontent can clear its throat

and loud and brittle sing.



And yet while I can see this clear

and know its truth is cruel,

I cannot seem to shift myself

beyond its narrow view.



The day can be no other

than I deem it to be

and yet to change its destiny

I must wrought change in me.



Who sorts the thoughts within my mind,

which brings the day to be

in names and judgements negative

to peace and harmony?



The dull and dreary does not live

unless I say it is

and boredom is another name

where reverie would breathe.



What’s in a name I stand and ask?

As mind holds brush aloft

to paint my day with bitter words;

ensure that peace is lost.



It’s in the name that meaning comes,

to make the day its own;

where dull can be a quietness

and boredom, time alone.



Within the quiet, easy days

when peace has come to call

it knocks upon the ancient door

where hope is Word no more.



It’s in the words unspoken

and those we choose to know

that day is made and brought to be,

what we would make it so.



It’s not just the beginning where Word

is found and called,

but in the middle and the end,

that Word does make our world.



So choose your words with care

and hold them to the light

that day may be in brightness

and not imprisoned night.