I write as an internal reflection;
To weigh where I have been; what I have done
Pen on paper: a linguistic resurrection
When all is compiled, what is my sum?
Planets ellipse amongst a sheet of fixed stars
But my hands mold time like warm clay
Memories; my medium, complied to carve
To deflect the trials that come my way
Passion, provide me a means for escape;
To abscond from the physical hour,
An instrument to dream, as I lay awake
Make meaning of an aimless scour
The internal discourse and my means to decipher
Mark my itch, my twitch, my ache to be a writer