Laundry Day

My clothes don't match,
Or I am wearing something new,
This old guise is stilted with mildew.

I have watched the tedium rise to the occasion
And take my breath away!
It slunk into the shadows of a pose
That swayed like this...everyday.
Old and hackneyed, this laundry bin
Will fill to the brim before...
It tossed a pile of these old clothes
And gave the sun away,
To the resonant sacrilege of a duster
And a thousand charlatan runic frays.
How they bite the dust as they go
Round and round, high and lo',
How the saturnine brunt that befall
Their little deeds and writ proverbs,
Every day that goes by will see the sun
And the shadow it carves.

Suddenly they would come to a halt,
The sun will wonder why...
No soap to froth, no foam to smear,
As the clothes will need to dry.
The day is burnt,
Whims will scorn this nefarious end of time
For this mind...

The planets still revolved,

With the button that escaped
The clutches of the day
And remained...with the grime.

The bum who lives across the street
Will sew it to its heart and smile.