It matters not the hours,
The quick five minute showers,
to rinse and wash the sweat away,
from the workout or just the day,
rinse the dust of worldliness,
to finally rest in peacfulness,
let quiet be your hepa filter,
bring you away from off kilter,
body breathing, absorbing calm,
healing those weary bones with balm,
yup
a time balm,
my pillow, my friend,
my head is full of poisoned thoughts,
wrong bill of goods the I cheaply bought,
I need a time balm,
if when it goes off silently,
and there is nothig left of me,
the self that came through the door,
at the end of the work, plusiers choses,
tying my smile back to a grimace,
clothing fused to my skin,
I have become the job,
help me step away for my job is in trouble,
it tried to rob me of my soul,
my pillow, my friend, add a bubble,
push the button, light the fuse,
for it is noisy in my head and refuses
to go quietly and seriously
I need the relief, not grief,
of the time balm.
©DWE012014
This poem does not promote the product "Time Balm", any similarity to a real
product out is purely coincidental, all manifestations and manifesto's are pure fiction,
not meaning to cause friction, if any occurs, find your **** balm.
