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Almost
days, scattered like wind tossed waves
have no rhyme or reason of being,
wasted ticks of the clock never reaching
full circle,
sunrise and sunset mimicking each other,
no need for tomorrows, no use for yesterdays,
only the dull roar of sameness fills my head
to keep trying? uninspired whimsy at best,
surrendering my will? an ongoing debate,
either choice a fitting miscarriage of tears
and in the middle of time held prisoner,
I allow a smile of redemptive thought,
it was never meant to be perfect,
but then again, I once had the chance
