Lithe empty words gauging rhythmic
Twists, spell poets’ lame resistance
Spilling wild, intuitive sound
Harping loud noise – for attention
Attempting remedial spates
Rivalling long-winded sickness
Routines, forcibly holding sway
Turning cartwheels in mental squares
Subjugates rue allotted time
Spent coaxing another’s pattern
Past points goading wilful return
Timeless dreams puncture life’s humdrum
Existence; fielding ambitious
Designs spreading infectious pulp
Saying, “watchful vigilance will
Suffice, for guarded protection.”
Opportunity’s knocking hand
Broaches fortitude’s guessing game
Faced with layers of misfortune
Curled around blank, itinerant minds
“Shouldn’t have been so confident
Calling time on adventurous souls
Toe-poking wispy attitudes
All too soon, before journey’s end.”
Fighting against a relentless tide
Once reserved for starving artists
Aimless quarantine, for writers
Alike; beached entire losing
Spatial prominence – giving chase
Along eternity’s thin ledge
Grasping Will O’ the wisp’s hopeful
Cloud-haze of deceitful nothings
“Oh, they wont give in, not never
Scheme after blue-printed pressing
Scheme, pushed from destitute studios
Hocked-out increasing rental debt
Diminishing provisional
Food reserves, gnawed down to bare bones
Driving on, ceaselessly, towards
Coveted meetings with the stars.