Have found time within my turmoil after a long time now...My pen lies lifeless between my fingers and my mind rests listless between my ears.
I squeeze it to force the ink.
I squeeze it and force myself to think.
But no thoughts. All noughts.
Down again to straight reporting, though shades of poetry still take shape.
Rhythm unbidden creeps in.
Rhyme unplanned seeps in.
The first drops through the crack in the dam....gather momentum....gathering fellow drops in revolt.
Fighting the dam and breaking the vault.
All the riches held within fell to ground in a blinding shower.
Everything is destroyed....in a vulgar display of power.
The time will come when all my life...each waking moment...each sleeping second....each dreaming hour...shall meet that point in space and time....for which a whole lifetime I will wait.
Preparing for it and hoping that I am not late.
When the time comes few will know. Before they comprehend I must go.
A purpose I shall serve, of which none maybe aware.
Saint or sinner in else's eyes, I will just not care.
When that happens Death would be a natural extension of life.
And I shall sleep, my brow uncreased by strife.
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