Wasn’t until evening
that the tears collected
and blurred my vision once again.
Sorrow’d already frozen my core
since the awakening hours-
consumed by the crisis of
doors slamming on hope
so soon after the re-opening.
Perception bears an ugly mask
and taunts the scolding mirrors
from whence the quandary came-
where seeing is believing
but thine eye is not thine own.
Sadness, the routine response
aligns with disappointment
and wins over anger again.
Anger seems an easier out-
dramatic but demanding
animosity I’d regret.
In the driveway I stand
looking out at the street
and wonder why so fine a night
in January now?
A layer of snow mingles with the shingles
and daggered water mocks the ground
in wait for thaw.
Cold but still extended.
I return to the house
and retreat the bedroom
to lie down
and wait with grace.
Adding your comment: