Poetry Quickfire

Patching the Now

Designed by a day of almost,
as dream slipped in pockets.

Tired spirit hunched over,
as fingers opened to catch.

Unraveled stitches mocked
as worry latched to the fading.

Flashed by static images,
as slumber tossed the will.

Staggered by morning light,
as waking sewed the possible.

My poetic moment must end. Four kids are lining up in front of me saying, "Mom, where's the pasta?" Duty calls.

Hope to visit you all later tonight :)