#2


A Friend


Inside out
I trudge through life
mired in my responsibilities
tired, always
living for work
working to live
but work isn't living
I know that

It's freezing here
I shovel snow
like there's no tomorrow
higher and deeper

(I dream of a house
with a white picket fence
a sunny day
and someone to come home to)

The phone rings
time to offer my help
to a total stranger

When I come home
a moment to myself
my words bleed on the page
but I can't feel my wounds
too deeply buried.


April 2, 2008

© 2008 Anne Westlund




Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 949 times
Written on 2008-04-03 at 01:22

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Elle
Sometimes it feels as if we are so mired in the drudgery of life, yet I think the picket fence and the dreams and hopes are out there - sometimes a little elusive to find - but there and often in the most surprising way

Elle x
2008-04-03