Small Release

My hands ache and my lids feel heavy
My face feels tired
And I haven’t even started my day
I’m not ready

Lately I’ve felt like crying
Now tears do not flow
It must be this heat
Beaming in from my window

A high velocity fan blows the hot air into the hall
The air conditioner needs maintenance
And I’m waiting for the temperature to fall

I don’t mind the spring and her allergies
The summer and her scraped knees
The Fall and a beckoning bite
And the winter the freezes hard during the night

But I’m a wolf who doesn’t mind an icy muzzle
To run free and stress free from life’s juggles
I’ll eat my share and rise my family
I’ll stand on the highest hill and howl songs aptly

But I am not a wolf
Just a tired human being
Just a little wise
A slightly all seeing

And I can hear the whisper in the night
My weakest hour taunts
But I turn on my music
To shoo away silent haunts.

These old hands on a young body
Dimming hearing
And uncertain vision
A murmur heart that excites at a simple folly
That sometimes aches
Skips seeking provision.

I’ve got alot to take care of this 88 degree day
Chemical chores
Oil pours
And a load of laun’dray

So I’ll close the waning poem
And blast up this song of truth
An eye for an Eye
No Hocus Pocus from the woman of truth.