Where to begin?
How to tell a well structured story of a,b,c order
when life reigns in chaos?
I wait for moment to strike
for glorious inspiration to dawn in lightened euphoria,
but I fear it will not come.
How sure am I to be of this moment?
When I can feel the clock drain.
It ticks and ticks i n s i s t e n t l y,
counting over the hours and draining of sand.
And while I sit here
watching the arrow round the clock,
what of the billboard plastered behind?
In my fixation for alarm's ring
the flash of neon glow is dull to my senses.
I read not the words.
My moment of finding never goes, never comes.
I w a i t
and time passed by.
And what now?
Should it all be over?
I have watched the tick of clock,
waited for my time to run bare
with little I can show.
What have I amounted to in my search for meaning?
What have I left plastered, unread to that now pealing board?