Writing
It only takes a small distraction,
then I am lost in place and time,
then almost without my inaction,
I drift in a world of my own rhyme.
Leaking like some broken pipe,
my words splash upon the page,
sometimes good sometimes tripe,
a cross between a fool and sage.
Perhaps my concentrations lacking,
to often I see my attentions caught,
even now my minds back tracking,
lost within a new fresh thought.
Can I just concentrate my mind,
finish of what is now here before,
looking now my eyes see blind,
other visions bring fresh allure.
Life is an ever changing cycle,
people and places pass me by,
always to witness a fresh debacle,
births and deaths both make me cry.
Words are all I have to cling to,
ever present within my head,
like a friend they are always true,
always constant but rarely read.
Let them now be my witness,
to yet another day passing time,
all has changed but my interest,
so life passes me by like my rhyme.
bkewl.
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