I woke up early and wasted time,
scribbled some words but none that rhyme.
There’s stories told again and again.
And I’ll have another but I know not when.
~
My body rose from a cozy bed.
Thoughts poured from my sleepy head.
But with no order there’s no start.
And with no meaning there is no art.
~
While mindless dribble flows with ease,
like foggy memories of the open seas.
Or of early years spent flat broke,
when thinking time was just a joke.
~
But love was found and a child born.
A father lost and mothers mourn.
Successes found and maturity spurred.
Sickness consumed then depression prospered.
~
The future then seen through the eyes of one.
Oblivion felt and life seemed done.
Years pass by but seconds count.
And to rise again, love’s paramount.

~*~
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