same theme for so many years
changing as the world around
changes all around if there
exists an actual plan whose
plan is it and who is it for
same beat up older mind
tripping and falling so many
times he might as
well walk on knees and
say a prayer while he is down
nothing concluded never
had a plan only title to
start with and a constant
pen pusher seated at the
blank page steering wheel
plain and simple an idea
of an idea of an idea and on
somewhere until the hand
loses the ability to be the
go between for the mind
the book may get old and
pages creased but words
and the thoughts that
put them in their
place will never die
the story may never be told
properly exhausting every
detail randomly or in order
of time and importance
these volumes may remain
handwritten eternally the writer's
worst nightmare staring
into
tired eyes just wanting
to
find that inner peace
nothing
concluded...
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