Waiting For The Next Day.

April=POETRY

The bad shall pass As I dream.

The wind lulls me to sleep,

as I write this to beat the clock.

A poem not quite formed.
Yet no time.
So there is this.
The bad shall pass is a truth,
just in another context for another poem that there is no time to write here now.

Written by Sam Sutlive on April 6, 2017 between 11:54pm and 11:59pm for April 6, 2017 post. Posted 12:02am on April 7, 2017

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