i close the door
another task
another chore
five years past and gone
maybe more
have i lost myself
in the mundane
the strong bolt turns
pin tumblers slick
i think of nothing
that's the trick
to still the thoughts
that poke and prick
and keep me safe
from the truth
if i can forget
tomorrow won't come
where all the hopes
and fears are from
and all the things
i haven't done
might slowly and softly
creep away
