Sitting here, not so pretty,
With pen, paper and ink…
Shepherding those meandering thoughts,
With a mild, cold drink…
They wandered, aimlessly,
Each, an endangered recluse…
As I sort them all out,
And put them to some use…
Ideas, hovering around surreptitiously,
Searching for landing space…
They heard the gun at different times,
Running their own, unhurried race…
Days passed, in unheard agony,
They shot past the finishing line…
I wonder how I missed them all,
Considering they were all mine…
Signals, hurtling slowly,
Colliding in the electromagnetic battleground…
Some diminishing, some diminished,
My own thoughts, unrecognizable when found…
They stare back, questioningly,
What took you so long, they ask…
No excuses, just trifle remorse,
As I shift behind the mask…
I am back, honey,
Like a drunken lover, I proclaim…
Carving them out, from inside their graves,
To begin anew, the attempt to tame…
It will work out, surely,
We have agreed upon that…
Tranquility, harmony, and world peace,
Once again, with the writer’s hat…
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