The Day - A poem for my Collection or Recollection

 The Day The day begins with some anxious thought, I breathe in and push them out, Sitting quiet for a while, almost meditative. What the day brings—I can't say I'm excited about, Maybe just about getting through it somehow. How? I'll figure it out as I trot on my way. Early in the morn, I call it quits on the day. To begin with, I drag myself out of bed, Some salt water, as the social doctors suggest, Some decaying food, to get last night's meal to digest. Once, I had a dream—the land looked like it does today. Maybe it was a nightmare, and I was just unaware. I could spend all day sitting, naked and bare, But with a thousand strings pulling at me, I don’t know how this puppet would fare.

Now, maybe, downtrodden—from dreams and nightmare,
To live once again, I can only hope to dare.

(By Giorgio de Chirico (died 1978) - http://www.artuk.org/artworks/the-melancholy-of-departure-melanconia-della-partenza-198490, PD-US, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1037911)