Week Weak Again

What is it that makes me feel not quite ready for the week ahead? Or is that just an excuse layered on top of some stubbornness I reawaken from childhood, akin to "But I don't want to go to bed"? And why is it when I feel this way I think a string of stilted questions will make anything better? Would statements, perhaps, be more in order?

I think it is out of my system. A good tomorrow will be helped by sleep tonight.

Good night.

Great are the words of Isaiah

Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.

Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labor for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.

Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live; and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David.

Sleep

The sleep of a laboring man is sweet.

Forgive a brief poem

To Songs unsung, I Hum

A poem never read
was one I thought I heard

though soon the sound escaped me,
it left me still disturbed.

A poem never written
was one I longed to hear -

yet on, the page stared blankly
at the words that stood so near.

A poem never realized
may seem an unclear thing

without a phrase definative
just a voice re-echoing.

A song to me familiar
while all the lyrics hide

I welcome and attempt the tune
of a melody deep inside.