The Perfect Day
He used to stay,
awake, so late.
waiting for
the perfect day.
Wishing on
the rising sun.
to lift his loss
and right his wrong.
To take away
the liquid song,
that lulled his soul
and made him strong.
To the blackest night
he surrendered as friend.
To the bright of day
he could not defend.
The light could not
wash out the dirt.
Or the things he hid,
that made him hurt.
So alone he washed
his insides clean.
A lullaby,
he could not wean.
Waiting on
that perfect day,
to bring him rest,
as he quietly lay-
Like a child
at the foot of his bed
curled up tight,
with the voice in his head.
Afraid of the choice
to open his eyes.
And from his sheet,
he'd silently cry.
Until he was saved
from those things unseen.
And the day, it came,
When he set himself free.
.
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