in deceasing december
the day darkens, rain is coming, they say
it is the lunatic asylum season,
these long dark days of december.
through the big window the day darkens,
reflections of table lamps pop up,
the pale blue sky pales blue to darken
a promise of rain upon a book’s last leaves
rattling in the wind’s turn over;
and there i am reflecting upon my reflection,
fathering further the past’s surmise that
begs the curtains be drawn on the black thoughts;
for inside me the brightest of past decembers
remembers the comic’s antics and the smiles
that would never end - even in these dark times
the drapes sleep me a dream upon a big sigh.
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