I am scattered and distraught piles of books not yet read
Stacked like good intentions never fully realised
But the thought at least counts even if the human doesn’t keep scores
And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth fighting for
Stories that are yet to be explored, a ship kept ashore
Closed tales waiting to be shucked, yarns yet to be spun
Waiting to be cracked open and woven into a tapestry of wonderment
Brilliant in its construction; I am the potential within
The stirred depths of unfathomable darkness, the murky water
Struggling to find my own clarity by sifting sands of time
Through sinew-strand joined skin hung on bone, a meat vessel
Formed of chaos and the sublime with a side of lime and rhyme
I am the infinite moment of golden hour condense into a funky,
If chunky, character, sharing care factors with friends