Specter

At the end 

Of the ardous Monday,

Hope lies hidden

Among other ruins,

Chin in a sling,

Eyes bathed in mist.

Th brunt of the day to come

Shall fall upon us, again,

Regarding our imperfections

With serene eyes.

Still, the foliage of the light

Holds no protection 

Over broken china.

What aches the most?

My colourless shards

Or the promise of the glue?

Reviews

[Hello, Goodbye]

Love the imagery and introspection.

[Witty Fay]

Thank you for the kind words.