"Just five minutes more" is the cry.
Playtime has been interrupted by the familiar "hurry up."
Vocabulary common to every parent:
"You've had ten more already. Time to get out."

Why do they insist? My needs never win the battle.
Why is my fun spoilt with this never ending list of demands?
"Oh, it's not fair" is yelled in anguish and responded to by further rebuke.
The severity of consequence based on their ambiguous countdown is increasing;
a thread of the "Thinking Spot" will no doubt soon follow.

A few grumbles are followed by silent protest,
albeit underpinned with a threat of childish tantrum.
It's time for the family meal and this standoff has but one resolution.
Isolated relaxation time is over.

The timetable of the young child at the door demands no less;
the parent must vacate their ten minute bath.

in summer, soft
in lights dying, this still pool...
here rest my heart

Shallow trenches flooded with ink,
paths worn in paper,
pull me from the brink.

Background chatter and grey noise fills our head,
ten minutes a day respite,
or I'll end up dead.

Static rain ice cold on my skin,
but it's dry at twilight,
in the ghost town within.

Brass enlightenment  .  .  .
All the pub droning hoppy,
  .  .  .  India IPA.

In the blank pages
Where my feelings flow freely
Once suppressed within my heart
The ink overflows with emotions
Across the white canvas
Where the nomadic mind gets respite
From constant supervision of the world
The blank pages offer a tranquil retreat
Healing the soul of all travails

Gushing stream
The hot water cleanses
My body of its imperfections
My mind of its worries
Instead filling me up
With voices from the make-believe
Allowing for just
A moment of respite
It may not last long
But here in the rush
I cannot feel anything
Or hear anything
But the water and me
I am alone
Perfectly alone
I am happy here.

You are sweet to me
But I know how you can be
Yet I will not stop this or complain
Because I need a friend
Who won't judge me on my pain
A friend who makes me feel
Warmth and some self-worth
You make me smile
And forget about him
For a while.

You were totally something else. Like a calm respite overcoming an instance of excitement. Magic and other prime words that can dictate the inarticulate adjectives that was this afternoon. Happiness and pleasure. A coexistence. To coexist. Soy.