Tick Tick Tick
Tick tick tick
Time runs quick
And I write slow
At least today
As I can't seem to find my way
To the swift good flow
I've happily had
With little fail
Since the first of May
When I was heard to say
A million words
That's an impossible task
But that is one
That I'll get done
So not impossible in fact
If I can act
In such a way
That I can plan
And stick with it
To make it true
But it remains
Hella hard to do
And days like this
Where I lack the bliss
Of quarters writ
With goodly sums
Of many words
Borne of a mind and fingers
Graced well
With a great good speed
And determination
Yes leaves me down
However briefly so
And a want to go
But even harder
The next good day
Not that this is me
Saying that is it
I'm calling it quits
I'll be back tomorrow
And ready to write
With my customary speed
That I'm grateful to have
Because it allows me yes
To dream the real dream
Of writing a million words
In a single year
No what this is
Is me but sitting
In the thoughtful pose
That thinker had
To hide my sadful face
As I muse about
Both my good
And yes my bad
Wondering if
The current bad
Can still lead to the good
I've had of late
Though as you can imagine
I'm not posed like that
Because you cannot write
Like the Thinker posed
Not with fingers dancing
And even if
Text to speech it was
Like the kind of good
That it should have
It's not my first choice
To make my voice
Be brought to life
Though life alas
Brings with it
Yes many years
As it has to live
Some kind of life before
It gets before your eyes
Exceptions apply
But for the bulk of what I've writ
It's living most quietly
Which is to say
Ain't no one reading those
Or seemingly ever will
Not that what I've written
Has been much bitten
Like a goodly fruit
Be it in the past but years ago
Or the present now
Which begs the question
What's up with me
When neither my prose or poetry
Tickles most easily
And still I carry on
I must be daft
And lack the craft
I need to have
To be any kind of good
Because if I was that
Would I not get
At least a little love
I whisper no
I just gotta go
And write my best
To their completion
Because I believe in me
For I'm a writer
With goodly tales
That have yet to see the light
So still I write
Because I'm not yet done
The battle's still not won
And if I never win
I've come to like
The art of writing
So very much
That I will do it yes
For the rest of it
I can only hope
There will come a day
That I won't care
That no one does
If the pattern holds
And I remain
The who are you
I fear I'll always be
Tick tick tick
Time runs quick
And I write slow
At least today
But I still might find my way
To the goodly height
I wish to write
Because I am fast
And though the morning's past
There's time but left
For the right to rise
The right of writing lots of course
Because right is such a loaded word
I don't wanna go
And be all political
Though yes I could
I cannot say
That it'd do me good
Unless I believe
No good will come along
From my creativity
Than it can't be wrong
To make political
A part of what I do
Tick tick tick
Time is ticking down
And I must go
I wish you'd let me know
How good or bad I be
But first you have to here
And it's painfully clear
I don't know how
To off and pull that trick
Maybe I'm thick
And ain't nothing in the world
That I can do
To make any of my dreams come true
Tick tick tick
Time ticks out
And with it me
This is the end
This is the end my friend
I swear to God himself
This is...
Charles Petrie
Date
07-24-2019
Time
13:24-14:50=86
Word Count
722
Time runs quick
And I write slow
At least today
As I can't seem to find my way
To the swift good flow
I've happily had
With little fail
Since the first of May
When I was heard to say
A million words
That's an impossible task
But that is one
That I'll get done
So not impossible in fact
If I can act
In such a way
That I can plan
And stick with it
To make it true
But it remains
Hella hard to do
And days like this
Where I lack the bliss
Of quarters writ
With goodly sums
Of many words
Borne of a mind and fingers
Graced well
With a great good speed
And determination
Yes leaves me down
However briefly so
And a want to go
But even harder
The next good day
Not that this is me
Saying that is it
I'm calling it quits
I'll be back tomorrow
And ready to write
With my customary speed
That I'm grateful to have
Because it allows me yes
To dream the real dream
Of writing a million words
In a single year
No what this is
Is me but sitting
In the thoughtful pose
That thinker had
To hide my sadful face
As I muse about
Both my good
And yes my bad
Wondering if
The current bad
Can still lead to the good
I've had of late
Though as you can imagine
I'm not posed like that
Because you cannot write
Like the Thinker posed
Not with fingers dancing
And even if
Text to speech it was
Like the kind of good
That it should have
It's not my first choice
To make my voice
Be brought to life
Though life alas
Brings with it
Yes many years
As it has to live
Some kind of life before
It gets before your eyes
Exceptions apply
But for the bulk of what I've writ
It's living most quietly
Which is to say
Ain't no one reading those
Or seemingly ever will
Not that what I've written
Has been much bitten
Like a goodly fruit
Be it in the past but years ago
Or the present now
Which begs the question
What's up with me
When neither my prose or poetry
Tickles most easily
And still I carry on
I must be daft
And lack the craft
I need to have
To be any kind of good
Because if I was that
Would I not get
At least a little love
I whisper no
I just gotta go
And write my best
To their completion
Because I believe in me
For I'm a writer
With goodly tales
That have yet to see the light
So still I write
Because I'm not yet done
The battle's still not won
And if I never win
I've come to like
The art of writing
So very much
That I will do it yes
For the rest of it
I can only hope
There will come a day
That I won't care
That no one does
If the pattern holds
And I remain
The who are you
I fear I'll always be
Tick tick tick
Time runs quick
And I write slow
At least today
But I still might find my way
To the goodly height
I wish to write
Because I am fast
And though the morning's past
There's time but left
For the right to rise
The right of writing lots of course
Because right is such a loaded word
I don't wanna go
And be all political
Though yes I could
I cannot say
That it'd do me good
Unless I believe
No good will come along
From my creativity
Than it can't be wrong
To make political
A part of what I do
Tick tick tick
Time is ticking down
And I must go
I wish you'd let me know
How good or bad I be
But first you have to here
And it's painfully clear
I don't know how
To off and pull that trick
Maybe I'm thick
And ain't nothing in the world
That I can do
To make any of my dreams come true
Tick tick tick
Time ticks out
And with it me
This is the end
This is the end my friend
I swear to God himself
This is...
Charles Petrie
Date
07-24-2019
Time
13:24-14:50=86
Word Count
722
Comments
Post a Comment