Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Broadsky Jun 9
mail gets delivered everyday

do you ever expect a letter from me asking you to meet me halfway?

packages getting delivered under the windowsill

accidentally spilling coffee on the water bill

I have my book of stamps and personalized stationary too

just give me a pen and tell me what address am I sending this letter to?

pictures and videos

your recorded laugh echoes

seeing these old photos of you in your youth

feels like waiting in line at a tollbooth

visiting the past comes at a price

it costs a pretty penny and tends to be unwise

these pictures and letters will never make it to your mailbox

just like when you see me you'll always move over to the other side of the sidewalk

finding these captured moments of the past

makes me want to climb in my car and drive fast

you seemed happy then and even happier now

it doesn't seem like I've brought you too down

eight years ago today you gave me ten digits to dial

I thought our six hundred and thirty six days spent together was beautiful like mosaic tile

you were the first, that I cannot change

but even if I could, there's nothing I would rearrange

you still move me in ways i cannot explain

even after all these years there are so many feelings that still remain

some bad and some good

just wondering

do you still wear the sweatshirt I got you,

the one with the hood?

I'm sure I am forgotten about

everything about me in your mind, completely wiped out

which is fine

just at least have a glimmer of when your heart was mine

mail coming on the seventh day is a nice concept

except

no matter where you are, wherever the trees sway

the mail never comes on Sunday
Eight years ago today you gave me your number, ill forever remember June 9, 2014 as the day I learned your name.
Darlingerode Jun 5
on rainy days
i think of you
and how we soaked
our pajamas
under the drizzle
sunday morning rain is falling
Steve Page Apr 14
The King and the prince went up to the city,
the King to make peace, the prince to get tricky,
one lived to love and one loved to hate,
one gave his life and one took the bait.

The King and the prince went up to the city,
one stood condemned, the other stood guilty,
one spoke the truth, the other just lies
one knew the plan, one got a surprise.

The King and the prince went up to the city,
one filled with tears, one empty of pity.
The prince had his Friday, ‘thought the war had been won.
The King rose on Sunday, his reign just begun.
John 12 . 12
“Blessed is the King of Israel!”
John 12 . 31
… now the prince of this world will be driven out.
John 14. 30
I will not say much more to you, for the prince of this world is coming.  He has no hold over me...
John 16.11
…the prince of this world now stands condemned
John 19.14
“Here is your king!”
Impossibly,
pigeons sparked against a cerulean sky
spinning like a tossed hand of loose change
in appreciation of the day’s artistry

On the bed’s edge,
trying to align and affix,
gingerly stretching muscles that used to behave,
their co-ordinated flight cast me
momentarily saddened
as each sock and trouser leg moaned on

Still,
the sun kissed us all, anyway
Simon Nov 2021
On the seventh day
I hear
Thunderous silence
Of everything wrong

God decided to rest
And so he created
A barren, quiet day
Made for me to ponder

With silent birds
And noisy trees
I wish he didn't rest
Because now I can't

Sunday breakfast
I wish coffee was enough.
I despise sundays
Simon Nov 2021
Sometimes I wake up
And my head screams
Loudly
Everything that is so wrong

Sometimes I wake up
And I sit
In deafening silence
Wishing I didn't

Sometimes I wake up
And wonder
How can I fail
So often
Without anyone noticing
Jordan Leisure Nov 2021
she is sunday
the locks and the curls
the way she unfurls
a dimple here
a dimple there
she is sunday
the warmth in her voice
the hopes and the joys
a crack in the sky
the light makes me blind
she is sunday

i hear the violins
they're playing me out

i'm thankful for sunday
Ananya Kalahasti Nov 2021
intrigue

      w
            r
                  a
            p
      s­

me around your finger.

keeps me hanging to every word,

        name

                story

                        ­place

                                that slips out of your mouth.

trapped in

- - hugs - -

that i can only imagine but not feel.

gazing and searching for

          s t a r s

in your eyes
06.01.21
Dave Robertson Oct 2021
Like pitch dark chocolate
Sunday nights are fi-i-ne

But always leave you wishing
For less bitterness
Anais Vionet Oct 2021
Let’s pretend Sundays last forever
and spend hours drowsing in the sun.
Let stress slowly fade, like a passing parade
and our cares will seem light as feathers.

I hear clouds still collage on blue canvas,
and deciduous leaves turned bright colors
we’ll picnic, we’ll laugh, and lay in the grass
and this Sunday will outshine all the others.
keepin’ it Sunday simple
Next page