To think, To sleep, To dream
Then to flutter away heartbeats for the sport
Of hope, To breathe, To stop.
There comes a weariness
with filling time
with bare hope
planning and projecting
some desirable outcome;
stuffing moments
that run over time
A shame how
beats pass by while pining
weary
To feel, To cry, To chuckle
off the harshest perhaps dullest beats
only to pounce, to fly.
Little Brown Birds 