Days of The Weak

It’s Monday. 

The rain comes down 

Hard 

Like the weight of life on my shoulders. 

It takes a while... 

But I manage to endure. 

On Tuesday 

A blizzard ensues. 

It threatens to bury me. 

I catch cold... 

But I later find a cure. 

Wednesday. 

The winds of autumn 

Crisp and sharp 

Cut blades into my skin. 

Today, I am chapped  

And blistered 

My visage, pallid 

From the raw, savage cold... 

But my healing is sure. 

Thursday. 

My repose is disturbed 

By the deafening sounds  

Of thunder. 

The climate is turbulent 

As are the thoughts in my troubled mind. 

But despite my despondency... 

My temporary respite 

Remains procured. 

Friday. 

I rise to the divine hymns 

Of sparrows. 

Their lyrics dance enchantingly 

Into my atmosphere. 

The lambent sun’s rays 

Warm me with Spring’s  

Calm serenity... 

And I feel secure. 

Saturday. 

Summer has come. 

Pathos has departed 

Perennially. 

The emerald greenery 

Sparkles with opulence; 

The calm breeze beckons me  

With coquetry 

And my soul is quieted. 

I am wrapped in a blanket of  

Tranquility 

Like a suit of fine couture. 

And in these days, 

Through and through; 

Though they may have appeared  

Uncertain at times; 

They are now of the distant past 

As if once childlike and naïve; 

And are now rich with sanguine  

That the future is 

Mature.