Time to Write

 

I work the day and play some dice,

A life so hard but spent alright,

I look for love, for treasured time,

I guess this pad will just suffice,

I’m called to talk, observe, and smile,

Then pat my back saying, “Yeah it’s fine,”

The days they fly they’re sludge they’re brine,

Disgusting often, they stink like slime,

I feel my heart palpitate,

My tongue, my eyes,

My feet and mind,

I’m often slow to snap at things,

Or see beyond what the mirror shows,

I magnify, go relive, and cry,

And shut my eyes from sureality,

For the oracle, “You’ll be sad as Pete,”

When the Cock crowed and Jesus’ fate sealed,

Often times I wonder what to do by day,

Then the night falls and I start to write.