As the day grows old, as all days do, longing for the cool of night no longer wakes the mind. Dreams turn into smoke that does not shelter from the lingering heat of sun’s strong rays. The mind wonders—wanders. Vicious cravings for victory drown beneath the surface of the longing for kinder truths…for camaraderie that wasn’t…old friends who never were…conversations that were really only one way—battles to be fought and never lost, no matter what the cost.
at day’s end flowers
growing older—rot…their seeds
parched by earth’s hot tears
Copyright © 2018-07-09, by Lizl Bennefeld.
Odd trains of thought while exercising in the gazebo, first thing this morning, left me with this poem for #RonovanWrites #Haiku Weekly Poetry Prompt Challenge: Old and Days. I hope to be inspired to write one in a different vein before the week’s end.