September Morning

The daylight comes slow

on a grey September morning

and I’m left

counting the days in the year.

As if every time I reach out

and get a hold of time,

I close my hand on nothing

and it just disappears.

                                                                                                                                          .

I’m getting scared,

that what I’ve done won’t be enough.

My dreams stay full of demons,

and my days of nothing much.

I’m hoping this is about time

that I’ve had enough

and I might change things

in the third act

of my life.

                                                                                                                                          .

Things are getting weird out there.

People start to talk.

They’re worried

how it’s gonna turn out.

I’m grateful for the work I’ve done,

I know we ain’t gonna starve,

but this year

has been one to talk about.

                                                                                                                                          .

I know that I’ll put on my boots

one foot at a time,

so maybe I won’t let this morning

weigh too much on my mind.

Jesus said,

“Sufficient unto the day

is the evil thereof.”

So, I’ll worry about

this day’s work.

I’ll grab my coat and gloves.

                                                                                                                                          .

Because,

these September mornings can be cold.

Maybe I’ve been Blessed

to watch this all unfold.

Not a young man,

but not so old,

that I can’t put the work in

where it matters,

and maybe save my soul.

                                                                                                                                          .

                                                                                                                                          .

HG – 2020