Glass Door, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

windowImage manipulated by author

Glass Door

With bucket of water, squeegee and rag,
Performing menial chore I abhor.
For it will always make my spirits sag,
Daily cleaning of the stately glass door.

Fully covered with finger prints galore.
Strange as it be that it has no push bar,
Makes me hate this nasty door even more.
Without a key lock makes it more bizarre.

Limitless numbers who come but can’t pass.
Is this door’s only purpose to harass?
Or clearly an obstruction made of glass,
To ensure creation of an impasse?

Now clearly understanding took an axe,
Gave the mighty wall of glass forty whacks.

 

 

 

 

Blue Rain, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Blue RainImage created by author

Blue Rain, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

When needed sleep finally does arrive
I dream in blue with eager thoughts of you
Reaching out, touching you, you’re so alive
Morning comes to reminds me what is true

There are always questions about my day
Fighting the blue loneliness since you left
Begging, pleading you would forever stay
Stealing my willing heart the greatest theft

Time for walking in the pouring blue rain
Searching for you, wherever you may be
Every step taken is a goring pain
Knowing not again your beauty to see

When needed sleep finally does arrive
I dream in blue with eager thoughts of you
Reaching out, touching you, you’re so alive
Morning comes to reminds me what is true