Alarm-clock implacably breaks the respite of sleep,
I crawl to the bathroom, zombie-like, barely shuffling my feet.
I look in the mirror. Seems like part of me’s still gone,
Unsure what to do next or what planet I'm on.
Cold water. Sleep's remnants are banished from sight.
I grab my creased notepad and methodically write –
Think hard, numbskull, focus – if this day were your last –
Which trifles would you hardly regret were bypassed?
Conversely, what one thing you'd miss out the most?
Set that as your goal and don't move the goal post.
Our journey is short, days like bullet trains fly,
Sleepwalking like zombies is easy, but why??
Goal
© Copyright: Филипп Кубасов, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120041501298
Свидетельство о публикации №120041501298
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