Monday, March 27, 2017

ennui poem

Why is it always the moment, as I close my eyes, that my mind opens?

In the early hours of morning, or the lateness of the previous night.

I must write.

My soul is sad. I must write.

There are so many things I have yet to say, or do, or even realize. I must write.

I am anxious. I must write.

For when pen comes to paper or fingers to keys, it is out.

Whatever it may be, out.

So why is it always the moment, as I close my eyes, that my mind opens?

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