Am I done now?

Am I done now?

Is it all over?

The pencils,

With ends,

Chewed down.

The broken pens,

Used as worry beads,

Finally laid to rest.

And on reflection

I wonder, what

On earth their use was,

When a day

Is always full,

Right up to the brim,

With added vim

And fizz.

Too much at times,

But often, just enough

To stimulate the interest.

And then it goes.

But in its passing

A new day arrives,

With a clang,

Of bells and whistles.

A high speed train

Of thoughts and deeds,

We struggle to hold on to.

With different plans,

To be revised.

The machinery

Of life.

Always turning,

Constantly reviving,

In the stumble

To remain humble,

Whilst accepting gifts,

And prizes.

Wearing different guises,

Not just for fun,

But for the sake of safety.

A chameleon effect,

Though good,

Never quite perfected.

Adopting ways

To bare the weight

Of everyday surprises,

That may, finally

By no more than chance,

And serendipity,

Have lead to this,

Momentary bliss.

A time for peace,

Simplicity and tranquillity.

A time for you,

A time for me.

A chance to dream

A chance to be.

the bar

The sad old man

Who drowns,

In the shallows

Of another drink,

Remembers yesterday.

And through

Beer stained eyes

Still sees what was lost

Reflected in the glass.

He tells himself,

And not for the first time,

Just one more,

And he will

Find his way again.

But past’s illusion

Holds him back,

He is ever in its sway,

Until the river rises

And along with this

Delusion

It sweeps them all away.