Monday, March 29, 2010

The Pessimist

He pondered. He stewed.
He fretted and brooded
over every somber dawn.
His life was weighed by worry
As fearful visions scurried
across his eyes.
His tired face was drawn.

How ponderous
How heavy
The future stretched before him...
days like stacks of ironwood
piled up in endless cords
He sighed his mornings all away
They vanished quietly one day
Like dust.
Time wasn't heavy anymore.

Our "Week-end Wordsmith" prompt was Ponder/ponderous.

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