60 Days: Friday Night

Friday night
Getting things right,
Writing is the way of life,
Pen in the end,
Is gonna  get the win,
Tongue ready with the white
Rider,
Aren’t you the justice I seek?
Aren’t you the painful one
In the meek?
I can’t help myself anymore,
I got to get back to wanting
More,
I thought I could carry myself down
This path,
Down 60 days of thunder,
Down the days where I
Used to wonder.
She still is there,
And so is he.
Standing in the middle,
Asking for friendship
With me.
The future seems to
Still be a choice,
Dad is restless and
I can’t hear his voice.
What kind of medicine will
It take to get grandma out
Of the grave?
Or make that white winter of
Comfort ever start to change?
These lines have been drawn,
And I can feel the yawn,
Its 3am and I am ready
For the dawn.
I am not friendly anymore,
Cause all I ever gave to you
Has been wasted.
I thought I was gifted enough
To get the climb back here in,
But instead I’ve been left with
Colorless paintings,
And all the times I wish I could
Have been better.
I got more to store,
And more to live by,
I got to many things to
Skip, to tell you of these
Bad hips.
I need a new walk with Ya,
So tell me if that can happen
Soon, or by noon, or by the
Next Friday night.

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