The Idealist
This
morning I stared
at
a blank white screen.
No
words appeared.
Only thoughts, wafted in;
Only thoughts, wafted in;
through
my mind
they
lingered
with
no goal in sight.
At
one point they
even
gave me a fright.
Some
were lengthy,
some
were old,
others
crept out
of
an old grey mould.
Whos
in my room?
How
did they get in?
Let
me put them in a box,
And
store them in a bin.
Life’s
precious,
sometimes
lost in a whim.
When
great expectations,
they
refuse to swim.
Don’t
wanna sound
like
JJ or Carroll,
groping
through holes
squeezing
outa tunnels.
So
it’s best to believe
I
should write what I think
as
it pushes me on
even
wafting on the brink.
To
say what I feel
and
watch you reflect
the
way I would keel
Just
to be perfect.
Jun
19, 2020
