Yikes. . . first I couldn't even find inspiration for a theme or subject until I dwelled on how tired I am - a lazy tiredness that pulls creativity and initiative into a black hole that leads to places unknown (and that might be tomorrow's poem). This poem, like yesterday's, took a lot of working out and intensive thought to construct, probably because I chose to follow a rhyme pattern and enforce it as opposed to my usual brand of poetry which has little to no firm structuring. . . This poem could have been called "Clocks Grow Old," but that's already the name of a song by I Am Spoonbender.
