Every Day

Every day is like a small book
Stacked upon the last
Anxiously awaiting the next

Rarely the same size
As each is filled
With the events of that day

Some days are bursting
Some days are sparse
Some days are sorrow
Some days are joy

Some have ragged covers
And dog-eared pages
From the repeated visits

There are light days
There are dark days
There are days filled with warmth
And days that ice reigns supreme

Some books end early
Neatly sorted and stacked
While others are written
In the wee hours of the night

We hope that each contains
A quantity of laughter and mirth
We hope there is a bucket of happy
For each measured dose of sad

Each day is a journey
From the mortuary of dead days
To the vast unknown lying ahead

Each step writes its footfalls
In the prints across a freshly mopped floor
Trudging the mud of yesterday along the way
Leaving behind the sojourners proof

Some days we want to blot out
Some days we want to hide from reading eyes
But every day a story makes
With each breath accounted for

Eventually, the volumes are stored
And some prominently displayed
They adorn the mantles and walls
Of our memory museums

So.. Write your stories
Write your songs
Compose your poems

As the day draws to a close.

Ron Simpson Jr.
December 9, 2006