2019 #9 The Remains of the Day (title of novel by Kazuo Ishiguro)

I see it, and long for its extension

The drawing of darkness over light

It gives me cover over my present failures

Inaction and forward motion intersect

And fight over my soul.

In those waning moments of daylight’s decline

I just watch, an outsider to my own struggles

Marking and recording

So that when the sun sets I can simply call it a day

And claim to start fresh in the morning.

But in those minutes when the sky blushes deep red

With pride or perhaps with some shame

I take my desire

For love, for connection

And put it slowly to sleep

It fidgets-it aches with energies unused

But I prevail, before the brightness finally falls.

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