A Writer’s Pen

A wilting dream and a damning thought,

my soul is broken and black is the pot.

With a crush that occurs one day at a time,

my life isn’t my own because I’m earning a dime.

 

Why do I work at a job I can’t stand,

because my possessions own me and my wallet demands.

A disingenuous smile and a polite hello,

I’m faking this dance to make some dough.

 

Desires for things are too instantly gratified,

while this writer’s pen lays still and petrified.

A stunted potential and an untrodden path.

Why do I shrink from risk? Because I fear the crash.

 

Bird by bird and step by step,

I keep on writing, but feel out of my depth.

I’ve lived with regret and fought for too long,

so I’m keeping my pen and will write a tome.

 

Strive to be ourselves is Hunter’s advice to a friend,

I better figure it out, because it up to me in the end.

Circumstance has made my choice to this point,

now I search for my destiny and it’s making my life disjoint.