Pyjama Thoughts On A Monday

In the tired, lonely grey mornings

I find peace, in the silence

The mute wind combing trees,

And leaves from trees, mottled streets

Of cordovan, crimson and ecru;

Workers struggling to move,

On the way to work, in the absence of light,

Never to see the day,

In a day struggling to even get going.

The dirty unshaven world,

Late out of bed, with black bag eyes,

And a cold, ear-burning head;

A day for hot mugs, in-front of hot fires,

With hot kisses, hot topics, hot actors

In that hot new film, on that hot DVD

You got from that hot guy in the pub last week.

Still, its Monday, you have to go to work;

You put your coat on, step outside,

The Autumn morning, waiting there,

Punches you straight in the face.

I find peace in the silence,

Before I get out of bed in the morning.