The tight fist of Friday poetry informs us our word is "away."
he would prefer
to let the small day fall away
squander it on notions and frittering doodles
but the world has other plans
soccer games and casseroles
liquor stores and code
the days fall away all too readily
years fall away lives fall away
he knows this
knows the autumn wind whistling through the garden leaves
the stark trees seen through the limbs of the moon
the world knows this too
smiling like a patronizing parent
whisking him out of the door
and into the shining day
there are things to attend to
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By Jeff Wood · Launched 4 years ago
Award-winning, non-fiction writing about reading, writing, art, family, love, astronomy, orbital mechanics, and life. Long form stories are featured along the links at the top.
