Sundays always smelled sharper.
Tasted harsh.
Even the sunlight cut deeper.
It sounded like a
dark Wagner symphony.
I’ve felt it since I was five—
lonely in the quiet.
Maybe it was school tomorrow.
God, maybe it was school tomorrow.
Or maybe it’s the truth:
Life keeps rolling
while people vanish.
Yesterday, his mother handed out
vials of ashes.
He drank one too many,
another fire snuffed out.
The sidewalks glare bright.
Sunshine in January—
a liar,
faking warmth,
mocking the chill in my chest.
Puffy white clouds
sharpen the loneliness
like a fillet knife.
I think of her—
my daughter, far away,
the laughter I can’t hear,
the arms I can’t hold.
I sip coffee, bitter
as this empty room.
Lonely as this
quiet Sunday morning.
Jan 11
Jan 11, 2026 at 11:11 AM UTC
Sundays always smelled sharper.
Tasted harsh.
Even the sunlight cut deeper.
It sounded like a
dark Wagner symphony.
I’ve felt it since I was five—
lonely in the quiet.
Maybe it was school tomorrow.
God, maybe it was school tomorrow.
Or maybe it’s the truth:
Life keeps rolling
while people vanish.
Yesterday, his mother handed out
vials of ashes.
He drank one too many,
another fire snuffed out.
The sidewalks glare bright.
Sunshine in January—
a liar,
faking warmth,
mocking the chill in my chest.
Puffy white clouds
sharpen the loneliness
like a fillet knife.
I think of her—
my daughter, far away,
the laughter I can’t hear,
the arms I can’t hold.
I sip coffee, bitter
as this empty room.
Lonely as this
quiet Sunday morning.
Thank you to everyone who reads, listens, and keeps showing up here. The support matters more than you probably know.
I just dropped a brand-new long-form poetry reading on my YouTube channel raw, unfiltered, and straight from the same place these poems come from.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?vJD_4EDxtGWU
If the work resonates, my books are available on Amazon.
Appreciate you all.
Thomas W. Case
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