Sometimes restlessness leaves your mind and finds its way to your fingers.
Restless
There are times when very late at night
I sit staring at the page of white
Waiting impatiently for something to write
With a mind too restless to fight
In the distance, I hear the whistle of the train
Of the thoughts that amble through my brain
From the life-changing to the very inane
Passengers boarding and deboarding in the rain
It does no benefit to attempt to sleep
Thoughts have been planted, waiting to reap
Sorting through, finding what to toss and what to keep
Even those, eventually, cast onto the junk heap
The harvester makes its cutting pass
Everything falls, both flower and grass
Every word and syllable that doth sleep surpass
Gathered and bundled into thinking’s morass
Eventually, the fervor begins to cool
Words begin to drown in exhaustion’s pool
Dying ignominiously in a good writer’s drool
Some escaping to become the words of a fool
Such are the anthems of the restless
The diatribes of the blest-less
The ramblings of the success-less
The poetry of the impress-less
Welcome
To Restless Flight 101
© Ron Simpson, Jr.
