at the end of day, when emotions are drained
and ole sol has relinquished to the night
the brain stimulates in vain
yet the heart wants to rest, relieve some pain
the eyes just stare, in silent reflection
waiting for darkness to shield their moisture
there's a reoccuring theme, wanting a connection
as we ponder all of our expectations
life is just a rough draft, as the poets contend
the rewrites are many and a certant constant
we hold our thoughts, as the mind bends
not knowing what message we should send