Making One’s Bed…

And sleeping in it.

But…

In the beginning,

Many taking to seedy rooms,

Find wallpaper peeling,

Ceiling cracks offering imagination,

Even flies on the pillow garner smiles.

If one is needing to lie down,

Surprise is not an option,

For dirty sheets might be the norm,

Along with the rust-rasping springs,

But…

You make yourself comfortable,

After all,

If you’re twenty

Going on maybe thirteen,

Adventure is needing something

More than the local fishing hole

Back home.

And now…

The room is dark

Like a musty 42^nd Street cinema

Where grainy black and white

European films are being shown,

Displaying art you’ve come to drink in,

If you’re a naïve mid-westerner,

 aspiring to be a director in your own right.

The blur of naked bodies,

Smiling the moment of sweet indolence

That comes following love making,

When the meanest of feelings

Comes to believe

Contentment,

Maybe even happiness

Can last forever…

Can’t it?

One can work toward a clean set of sheets,

A Downy smelling pillow

Maybe even a bed partner of worth

After all...

Acceptance of

Making a decision

And accepting the consequences of that decision

Is what growing up is all about

Isn’t it?

But don’t be surprised at the number of times

You may opt to sleep under the stars

Where Nature makes your bed

And expects you to respect it

Yet…

You find yourself in that same seedy bed

Still trying to learn the bigger lesson

That repeats itself over and over

Until it’s learned