On that lone eve when clocks run out,
of sights you’ve seen run over you,

move through like sketched-out shades
of perfect others,

with that smooth ease of light
breaking apart into anew,

and don’t chase nebulous creations
behind closed eyes, unbreaking covers

of paradise mirroring lost reflections
that someone briskly pointed to,

with that fake ease of smiles falling
into some pensive grimaces of doubt,

when no one thought
replaced that feeling of surrender to continue,

through days and nights of restless waiting,
when hours stretch out or just fall apart,

into the shapeless forms of new beginnings
that root through hardened shells of pasts that will imbue

your will to seek no character nor meaning,
but stillness in its absence of a timeline on a plane,

in movement breaking through the waves of patience,
as passion lyricising its expected dawn of virtue,

for yet another day and night of poignant waiting,
when thoughts rhyme out to the ticking hum of rain.

(inspired by the sounds of ‘Exta’ by Sebastian Plano)