Imagination is all to fill the duration
of what can fuel her elation
fast heart beats feet that's calling for patience
mind tells stories of momentary complacence
while hollow days of ill thyme complain the senses
of season come, seasons go of nothing but warmed up benches.
A key broad pen
to over explain the how and when
quick eyes to try and find zen, for only then
dreams come awake minus the REM, only her again and again
empty time to be filled with the sum of one rhyme
sometime, through time Thespis writes as a thespian
performing as someone as a lonely tragedy of free days beset by a nameless pedestrian.