Three hours, I sat there
Surrounded by clothes and
Records scattered across my floor
Cleaning is a chore I’m forced to endure
When I’m contemplating life
Wishing for more
I can’t even choose
Which record to play
So I pick with closed eyes
Letting my fingers find
Something to ease the overworked mind
And they land on songs
That are soft
I get it spinning
And already feel like winning
There is no space for sinning
When clover is singing
Suddenly, clothes are folding
My body is no longer moulding
A new sheet for my bed
And fresh pillows to cushion my head
I am dancing
And laughing
Time indefinitely passing
Before I have a chance to realise
It is night
The light is slight
This chore was no longer a fight
Happiness is no longer
Something I have to find
Just notes
Of song
Swirling around my space
I sway and shake
Without need for a break
Until the thrum of the beat
Matches my heart rate’s pace
Music
Is magic
And cleaning
Can be tragic
But with a record spinning
I can do it all
How song
Makes me fall
How melodies
Save us all.
12:56am - 15/09/25.
-
Author:
Chloe S (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 14th, 2025 19:16
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments2
Really love and connect with this one. Music really makes chores a lot easier ! Wonderfully written so that I feel as though I am spinning and singing along as I read.
A most interesting rhyme to this poem that spins its way through a chore and a day. Nicely done
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