Let

Let the dark clouds,
that hum like old lightbulbs
in my troubled mind pass,
and fade to pure lines
of orange symmetry.

Let whiteness wipe,
the troubled masquerade of clutter,
that fills the desktop
of my chattering mind.

Let silence strum it's cold peace through the unceasing music that I hear.

Let the soft touches
soothe my tight and tense shoulders,
gently releasing their taut worry.

Let the candle flicker burn straight.

Let string unwind.

Let clocks be late,
and tick slow.

Let the day go,
and its meticulous energy dissipate.

Let the pencil stop.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.