It's late, and lost thoughts, still running,
Litter their station, these big derailed-trains,
That follow no track, but form a blank stave
To the score of night's wake, and the steady refrains
Of a maestros conduction, 'Allegro! Dawn!'

Minutes and hours pass by like still moments
my eyes still awake in their half/conscious torment
On this medium on which I scribble and write,
These words, quick to mind and quicker to leave
Before making it onto a sheet, still white.

As one becomes two and time swiftly moves,
I sit--still in waiting, attempting to soothe,
Aches of the heart and a throbbing like violence,
the remnants of day, they crash and percuss
and remind me of nights spent lost to the silence.

--

At last there is peace, a perfect refrain,
Thoughts come to a standstill, in tireless brain,
as words flow like water, a oneness with pen,
the fray has receded, and harmony found
within the last hour, I have found you -
My zen.