The glass was cool against my forehead. Outside, Saturday morning arrived in shades of slate grey, a soft rain blurring the horizon where the sea met the sky. After an exhausting week, the quiet of the room was exactly what my mind needed. Down on the shore, the weather didn't seem to matter at all. A group of children had claimed the beach as their own. Five of them huddled together, their small hands dripping with wet sand as they constructed a massive fortress against the incoming tide. A few others chased the surf under the heavy clouds, while the rest simply stood in the shallows, laughing as they splashed handfuls of saltwater into the air. Even through the thick windowpane, the faint sound of their drifting laughter reached me. Watching them find such pure, simple joy in the middle of a storm completely washed away the last of my stress. I took a deep breath, leaned back, and finally let the weekend begin. Then I went to my desk to write another poem. 😎 Saturday ...
The clock strikes 12 AM, yet I'm still awake, Tired from all day's work, yet the bed doesn't call me, Lips whisper from a dark distance. Mama…Mom, do you hear me? The clock strikes 2 AM yet still awake, Tired body unwilling to cooperate, Mind spinning in a dark space, Mama…Mom, do you hear me? The clock strikes 5 AM yet still awake, Tired hands refuse to rest, Scratching words on the pad, Mind thinking on the dark past, Mama…Mom, do you hear me? The morning light begins to break, Before I close my eyes, I have one wish in this fading night, To hear you say again, "That's my Girl" Mama, Mom, can you hear me? I wish I could hear your answer back.