And how easily
These hours drop like
Pins, jaws breaking on concrete
Floors, the alignment shattered
Before ever we were aware it was in place
And further we collect
More and more
Like rampid
Theives
That would
Sooner store these
Earthy treasures for later
Save it all for tomorrow or
The next day; satisfaction tastes better
Aged, we reason. And we
Build a railway of
Promises to
Ourselves,
Hoping to one day
Gain the strength to build the
Locomotive that will give reason to
All the incentive we
Meant to give.
But
In the height
Of our procrastinated
Supposed youth, all the
Clouds we wished to give birth to
Sweet rain have evaporated.
Old dreams, vanished
Into the back
Of the mind,
Scarcely
Returning to the
Forefront of the scene
Where it once shined innocently.
It is only by foolish desire that we fall at
The exact hour we wish but
It is something we
Do not choose
And the
Quiet
Grows
And
Ends,
As
If it
Were
Always
There.
Only
Wait-
ing
'Til
You
Real-
ized
You
Should
Have
Done
More.

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