I Imbue to have written

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

I imbue to have written

With such care you’d think

Devotion would be my only vice

But procrasination runs heavy

In the art of writing — my lover

So I love dearly — I find unnameable

I harbor so much ill will for it

But to know I have completed

something is worth more devotion

I can take a day to pick up a pen

And another to grab paper

For which the world could have

been spilt — I can think of all the

things that went unwritten

because of some idleness

Which is just folly, I can think all

the time spent saying do but actually

not doing, so I sit and I write

What can inhibit this sloth?

Time flies like a kite

The hands begin to move

How a baby begins to walk for the first time

And for the first time seemingly

I write — curiousity, passion, devotion.