I'm no poet, to be sure. But I wrote this down between last night and this morning. I hope you like it:
The World spins.
I sit, listening to the sounds of the house.
A television show that holds no appeal,
the clickity clack of the dog's feet on the hardwood.
I sigh, and the World spins.
Darkness. Quiet.
I listen to the gentle sounds of sleep.
Which will it be?
Falling gingerly into that beautiful dark abyss or being tortured through an unforgiving night?
I wait, and the World spins.
The dawn ascends.
Laying in my bed...waiting,
for my pain to subside
for my energy to return
for my medicines
for the dr. to call me
WAITING...
and the World spins.