At the End of The Day

 At the end of the day… 

 

The worries of the next arise from their daytime germination.

 

Content in the parched earth,

having awaited their opportunity,

now entwined in the synapses

until, like weeds in a garden

they choke out the rich hues of the evening sunset

shadowing the golden yellow flowers.

 

At the end of the day…

 

One last chance to pull the sprouts emerging from the seeds of doubt

before their tentacles root,

choking out the dainty fingers of the flowers

which held on during the long day.

The beating noontime sun having sapped their strength,

now having breath a sigh, wearied…

reaching the oasis of evening.

 

At the end of the day…

 

The weeds bundled and tied.

He splashed some tepid water from the barrel on his face

and then trod wearily through the door of inner self,

seeking solace in his bed — and comfort for his mind.

While in the garden his next day worries sprouted once again,

 

At the end of the day…

 

Ray Brown