…

Ithe curtains billowed

a line of liquid sun bled into the room

insulting, judging

tools thrown astray on the old wooden planks

on them they laid, their work as their sheets

the wood was cold, giving no thanks

their pride scattered across the floor,

in the form of all they hoped to do

yet still they sleep and ignore

the sun shined mockingly

a sickening paint through naught but a sliver

blinding. hopeful. 

the tiring responsibilities 

from chores, to work, to life,

only made further hostilities

others could only annoy,

bother and disrupt,

loneliness was of more joy

the sun laughed

offering its hope unwanted

ignorante. blissful.

the unwelcomed bright crept through

into their bed of darkness,

sickening hope in an ugly hue

the light they never wanted

breaking their peaceful trance

the hope that swiftly haunted

at last the morning faded

the sun leaving with it, yet still,

insulting, judging