Why is it
that the door to January
is always
so
heavy
each day seems to plod along
like a worm
whom is imitating a wet noodle,
half stuck to the floor,
then dry before it can reach
the finish line.
Out my window
the once nepenthe world
has become shrouded in gloom
and cold
and dark
especially since
the magical spark of holiday lights
is gone.
It is in the midst of this seasonal affliction
the winter seems eonian
and I find myself lachrymose
It is only
when the 31st dawns
and the month
that feels akin to a year
is finally reaching its zenith
that I can arise
refreshed
and renewed
ready for a new door to open
as I slam the door of January
shut
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
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