Gone

Some long long days become a single hum
Of constant repetition and refrain
So when what should be done is finally come,
There's nothing left to go against the grain.
Some days seem endless as they wear away
The boundaries that help keep track of time.
They wander out and in, or sometimes stay
As if they had been stuck on wet birdlime.
I cannot say which way the day passed by
Except to say it did, and all a blur;
I do, perhaps, believe I could say why,
But even that I cannot quite be sure.
Either way I find the day is gone
And I have lost another newfound dawn.