When the blue hue of melancholy settles inside my mind,
when I sigh from somewhere deep inside my soul,
when the rain feels like I am being cleansed by my own falling tears,
I silently clean.
I sweep floors from the depth of thought,
bleach sides with the essence of my heart,
I organise pens into coloured piles
as I realign my scrambled mind.
And as I travel through
the dark abyss of avoidance I am forever
grateful that melancholy sits awkwardly in my soul.
For a life of cleaning is not for me.
Karen Hayward ©2016