In the quiet of the morn,
Before the day is newly born,
Armed with cloth and with broom,
I face each room, dispel the gloom.
Sweep away the night’s embrace,
In every corner, every space,
Dust motes dancing in the light,
Vanquish them from my sight.
With a swish and a swipe,
Clear out the old, the overripe,
Each stroke a line in my silent verse,
Crafting order, lifting the curse.
Water splashes, suds arise,
Reflecting in the mirror, no disguise,
Windows clear as the truth I seek,
Revealing smudges, streaks, so meek.
Clothes in drawers, neatly fold,
Tales of seasons, hot and cold,
Beneath the beds, the monsters flee,
No more clutter, no debris.
In the kitchen, pots align,
Gleaming in the daylight’s shine,
Surfaces bare, so clean, so fine,
Ready for guests at the dinner time.
In the end, the house does gleam,
Like the outcome of a pleasant dream,
Every nook and every seam,
Holds the echo of the cleaning theme.
In this ritual, I find my peace,
In the scrub and sweep, a sweet release,
Home not just clean, but a serene nest,
In the tidy calm, I find my rest.
About the Creator
Addy Gill
Hi, I'm Addy Gill. I live in Brisbane. I'm a part-time poet and work full-time as a bond cleaner with Brisbane bond cleaners.
Comments (2)
Hi Addy! I like your poem. It made me notice how disorganized my home is and that I better get at it! I also sense something deeper in your protagonist. Perhaps the compulsion for order is masking something internal that feels disorderly? You did a great job conveying something below the surface!
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