No Madness Today

blank slate 




this day 
to myself
is quiet. 
wet blanket
gray is the
color and 
feel, but 


the silence
is a 
comfort.


what 
shall I 
make of 
these hours?
what will 
I think or 
move or 
touch;


where 
will I 
travel or 
sit or 
nap? 


how 
will the 
ending 
be read 
after all the
introspection - 


before 
the 
definition 
is 
complete? 




Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker