My perfect day
Begins imperfect, flawed,
Even downright miserable,
But becomes a little less so
With the passing of the hours,
Until the sentinels of sleep,
Calling from above their towers,
Say : 'This, in its unlikely way,
Has turned into your perfect day.'
There is so much hope in this poem, and the concept itself is a veritable store of hope to take from whenever needed. By the time it can be certain that the day wouldn't end up unlikely perfect you're already drifting off into the comfort of sleep. Very clever.
But also, I notice that your perfect day is just like me, at least for the first couple of lines.. we start to differ after that but hey, I'm slightly perfect, who knew?
If you wish to post a comment you must login.
This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Stephen Gospage
Thu 14th Jan 2021 17:30
My thanks to everyone for the likes. Your interest in my poem is really appreciated.
Aviva - thank you for your analysis of this piece. It's perfectly true that you may miss the celebration of your perfect day because you are too tired to notice it. Perhaps through dreams? I have to follow this up.