This mind has been wasted.
Wasted by the meaningless words
Strung together with a melody.
These claim poetry but have no passion.
Oh for the days when the words would come –
When a phrase came as easy as breathing.
When my feelings could speak by themselves
And were not weighed down with stress
And longing for…anything.
But now activities choke the life from my mouth.
My mind is frazzled with deadlines
And what-ifs.
And I play with my heart -
Tossing it here and there,
Wondering if the one I’m tossing it to
Is as in love with me, or
If I’m just playing a game…
He looks like a good catch.
And now, with an alarm, another day
Begins and will end before it starts.
© 2000 pksarbear@juno.com