By Sunday

By Sunday

By Sunday,
a thin veneer,
all that remains
of my shell
I built,
to protect myself
from the world.

By Sunday,
it has worn
membrane thin,
scraped away in layers
by life's daily upheaval,
dark forces
without and within.

By Sunday,
I feel bumped,
bruised,
rushed, pushed,
pummeled, abraded,
irritated,
discouraged, heavy,
I drag chains,
my hope wanes.

By Sunday,
I long to wander
deep in the woods,
get lost completely,
swallowed by the trees,
breathe pure,
be alone,
meditate, center,
rebuild my soul,
shore up walls,
that wear down,
membrane thin,
by Sunday.