Turtle in your shell,
reading a book or writing a tell.
Experience scared across your back.
But...
‘Tis it a waste to wash in what’s fell?!
Stagnancy is hell.
Exploration, brings novelty.
Are chains made of poetry?
Be elegies you write, or dancing in meadows.
Your pen takes time,
and mortality slowly ticks to reality.
Is this how you want to spend, the last breath from your bellows?
Is it really worth its hold?
The relationship with time is abusive and finite.
Or tis it better to go out and be bold?
Make sure you don’t waste your limelight.
However, reflection is illuminating.
And one might find a place on stage with a mirror.
A gaze into which could change your fear.
To each his own, possibilities are enumerating.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 1:37 PM UTC
Turtle in your shell,
reading a book or writing a tell.
Experience scared across your back.
But...
‘Tis it a waste to wash in what’s fell?!
Stagnancy is hell.
Exploration, brings novelty.
Are chains made of poetry?
Be elegies you write, or dancing in meadows.
Your pen takes time,
and mortality slowly ticks to reality.
Is this how you want to spend, the last breath from your bellows?
Is it really worth its hold?
The relationship with time is abusive and finite.
Or tis it better to go out and be bold?
Make sure you don’t waste your limelight.
However, reflection is illuminating.
And one might find a place on stage with a mirror.
A gaze into which could change your fear.
To each his own, possibilities are enumerating.