at the end
work is left on the table
it is alone there
with no one to speak to
tonight
as we exit this door of work
and enter the
world of imagination
about dinner with
wife and
(kids if you have any)
outdoor
the stars shine beside
the moon
and then you rest your
head
on the the clean
conscience as
pillow
perhaps tonight
listening on
the theme
song
of Forrest Gump
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem