Sweeping vistas with sunrises and sunsets,
                                                         no, rather
Sweeping crumbs off the floor.
A vacation get away,
                                                           no, maybe
A retreat from the world, my escape, my bedroom.

Peace and tranquility,
                                                         no way,
I forgot to pay that fee,
Self-made man of wealth,
                                                                no, rather
My treasures are in just words and
time spent reading and writing, in stealth.

Hours and hours on end,  
                                                                           not at this time,
Wasted are the days of my youth, and age has
caught up and deciding what to do next with me, painfully.
                                                                                                                  No time, no money, no where to go,
pen and paper please, I
must write my way out, silently.