Routine

Everyday is the same way...

the house, the spouse

not how things lay

but how don't rouse.

The way is the same

the timing, the dining

makes life lame,

tattered lining.

Same continuation

day in, day out

like a bus station.

A pout, a drought.

Who's to blame

when all is the same?

Tame dame

what a shame!

One day, it was not the same!

There was a commotion

then a deep silence came,

the Earth had called my name.

© Rosangela C. Taylor / 04-08-09