Wary plod

There was a time,
when life
was measured in time
between "now"
and the weekend…

When I would get up
in the morning, feeling
already weakened...

Counting the days
to the moment that
I find the piece
that would bring me peace...

***
Lo and behold!
The solution is here!
I'm happy and cheerful,
but what do I hear?
***

I sense someone's voice
whisper into my ear:
"It will stop making sense,
after a year".

Now I have nothing
to measure,
that time is back,
except the feeling,
that someone is behind my back.

Comments