days, scattered like wind tossed waves

have no rhyme or reason of being,

wasted ticks of the clock never reaching

full circle,


sunrise and sunset mimicking each other,

no need for tomorrows, no use for yesterdays,

only the dull roar of sameness fills my head


to keep trying, uninspired whimsy at best,

surrendering my will, an ongoing debate,

either choice a fitting miscarriage of tears


and in the middle of time held prisoner,

I allow a smile of redemptive thought,

it was never meant to be perfect,

but then again, I once had the chance

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Stephen's picture

Great write.


Wordman's picture

Thanks Stephen for stopping

Thanks Stephen for stopping by, glad you enjoyed this.