Static
A poetic struggle
Rising from a troubled sleep
And covering myself in necessary clothes
I face a day in transient optimism
Buoyed by the blue of sea and sky
As unscheduled as my waking hours
My fingers skip on fretted strings
Until I tire of repetition
In the discipline of practise
My mug of tea grows cold
While the breaking of my fast delays
The day must start with something won not gained
Created, not rehearsed
Yet still I run upon a spot
Straining to make headway in the doldrums
Tacking into coming winds
A deeper sleep would better my resilience
And push me through the paper walls of my own inertia
A dogged perseverance as a wedge
To separate the cannot from the won’t
And distinguish the ceiling from the roof
In order to create more light than heat
I must translate this circular motion
Into forward steps towards a goal
To not rehearse and not repeat
But make fresh marks upon this path
