On a Sunday

On a Sunday

There is something unjust about this feeling

To overcome things once momentous

These humiliations feel clunky, like a safety harness

yet, I digress I have this monologue with the ceiling

To reconcile the present with the past is done

I found myself in convalescence

I seek not the future, only the next minute

Something to ease the heat of the mid morning sun

A tertiary take on the old ways of neglect

I planned and packed a snack

Something to chew, something to do

to nourish me while I search for something new

There is a grief so great

It reminds me of a boy who got a rock for trick or treat

For I do enjoy peanuts at a ball game

Despite nine innings making my thoughts feel rather inane

All to familiar I think I missed out

A quaint, Domestic life I feel without

My loved ones are no longer here

in propinquity to the streets

I knew all of last week, less colorful and more austere

For its time to move once more

To change the sheets

On the go endlessly

peripatetic in search of sensation

For this is not wanderlust, nor a needed vacation

What I seek is a certain Modesty

In my humility I have found strength

Starting new again; Once all have settled down

I stretch my legs to there full length

I begin this time with my feet firmly on the ground.