He sat there looking on,
The one million mile stare,
As still as if he was drawn
Or maybe just in prayer.

Across the entire world
His mind would race.
His thoughts would unfurl
As his mind would quickly pace.

How do you catch a prawn?
Or how would be get home?
The last chopper from Saigon,
The great civilisation, Rome.

All the world was his oyster.
But why not anymore?
For while his mind did roister,
Time had crept out the door.

At this time everyday
He was able to be free.
On the outside he was grey
While inside he could flee.

I think will write a poem.
But what about?
It should be about something important,
Like sub-Saharan drought
Maybe it should be funny,
Well that made me laugh.

I think I will give it a nice rhyme,
Like orange and door hinge.
Or place a hidden message,
Egnirc em ekam t'nod.
It could be deep,
But your as deep as water in a spoon.

Lyrical might my poem be,
Stop you'll sound like a loon.
It could be about struggling,
Except you don't live in a box.

How do I start it,
And what should it be called.
Ill check these poetry books,
How many stanzas just one or three?
This is harder than it looks,
Ill stick to tv.