The repetition of these days,

The rhythm I find my steps falling into,

The beat I tell myself to follow,

The tempo I feel I am steadily building,

As I hope for a new crescendo,

All sometimes halt.

And I reflect on the moment I am in,

The minutes which have pushed me

Steadily, slowly, indirectly along.

In this moment,

It all feels pointless. Meaningless.

Like nothing but this same tune is up ahead.

Oh, let me find a reason

For this new poem I’ve spilled out;

The meandering verses I’ve written,

The cellophane words I’ve said.

–Written by Sandy Heights

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close