horrible monday

[fledgist]

a raw wet morning's not the best of starts
everything's late and every nerve is shot
a kind of desperation is our collective lot
each of us seems mired in our old parts
the raindrops sting like cold bitter darts
what we had of good purpose is forgot
instead we wonder if we've lost the plot
gloom's the liquid pumping in our hearts
this cannot last the sun must soon return
the warmth that animates our feet and bones
must fill each heart with animating light
for kinder days and softer times we yearn
keeping our feet in place on the slick stones
morning is dark but evening will be bright