As irony would have it,
My intensity has turned.
I am now a poetry machine,
As the midnight oil is burned.
The thoughts keep on firing.
Can’t rhyme words enough.
I have to work hard,
To dump all of this stuff.
What’s wrong with me now?
It’s still a fast pace.
Seems like I am running,
A familiar endless race.
When will I find peace?
When will I let go?
When will I learn to say the simple word NO!
No comments:
Post a Comment