Such a strange construct
Determining our every life
Limited and often scarce
Yet many times wasted
Then again I contemplate
What I shall do
With all of my time
Generously handed to me
So many possibilities
All the things I could achieve
And while I overthink
I waste it all along
After months of empty pages I found the time to write again. Then again the poem gives indications of what could be the cause. I can relate well and maybe some of you can do too.
Cheers!
