Slowly time passes,
guilt forms,
what is it im meant to do?.
I'm sure I had plans,
all the time I worked hard,
longing for the holidays to arrive,
its finally here and I go blank,
sat, staring,
its on the tip of my tongue,
in the recesses of my mind,
im sure of it,
aren't I?.
Every moment, an opportunity lost -
what purpose waits, with untold patience,
for me to re-discover and put into action?.
Thought after thought,
I seek the purpose that previously came to mind,
wishing a clearer focus would return,
for second passes after second,
like the ticking of a clock...
Time marches on, patience becoming weary,
clarity is the writers prized possession,
with the potential to convey all I feel,
think, hope, fear, wish,
if only!.
As I bury my head in literature,
endless tales enacted in front of my eyes -
story after story,
tale after tale,
in the big screen of my mind,
I'm escaping what would have been,
we all need escapism,
from time to time.
Once and again I attempt to focus
and author what comes to mind,
never quite sure what the keyboard will say,
when I read it back -
what is it that needs to be authored, on this day?.
We all have our own, personal stories,
our own challenges, successes, emotions and pride,
potential is powerful indeed,
so I clench my fists, determination builds
and I work my way through the mist of words, thoughts, feelings,
emotions and everything else, floating around my mind,
to see what I can conjur up right now.
Time may have a small element of patience,
in the long term,
its certainly less judgemental,
yet age never slows.
They say we only live once, so live it well,
or at least satisfactorily, to your content,
do what feels right in your heart,
try to hold on to your fleeting thoughts and ideas
and make the most of it all,
so in time, you can look back and say,
with confidence,
that you did what you came to mind.
Such things are certainly not easy
but contentment comes from within.