I sat behind my writing desk
as an old friend would
to discuss the day’s events,
ideas, or people I've met,
or odd assortment of complaints,
in whichever mood of tiredness,
happiness, torment,
or humor I bore
to its warm wooden surface
so thoughtful and reflective
of my many tempers
blessed or disturbed.
Daily it seems we converse
of this or that,
or that and this,
brooding upon the many items
that had befallen my wandering path
through the courses of the day
so that after a little while,
when tempers are tucked away,
and distilling moods inlaid in script,
I wearily leave its good-natured ear
to re-enter a madding world
to re-enter a madding world
deaf to my abandonment.
More reassured of my purposes,
having settled mine own responses
made surer in my heart
when none other had provided
the listening comfort
my weary soul sorely needed
during that hour of the day
when feeling overwhelmed
to life's desperate inquisitions
so harsh and unfeeling
to a hopeful heart wishing
only peace and contentedness.
- R.E. Slater
January 14, 2015
rev Jan. 29, 2015
rev Jan. 29, 2015
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