It’s never simple,
as wished to be,
A very complicated contract,
The terms and conditions long forgotten,
Memories flirting with extremes,
Living with the daily thoughts;
Hopeful for autopilot until it is time,
Til it is time,
When is it time?
The morrow will come,
The sorrows will rise,
the little words we never read,
the little words we never trust,
life might as well be a bust,
the head of a stagnant being left in the past resurrected to today,
wondering who they’ll be,
Dear whoever is me.
Hold dear that which is me…
Will we ever read…
A little more into this,
a little more into me.