The ageless plight of persistant awakening,
Thoughts protruding into my every day,
The restless inner noise of ruminations,
Rustling windy bow-quaking wispers, remain.
The restling of memory spurs a conversation with the past
Concerning things I have done,
As I recourse for resolution within the recollection.
I'm just playing around with a bit of alliteration this morning. I figure the proverbial inner monologue is just as good a topic as any.
