_kairosclere_

  This wouldn't be Much more of a poem Than the being I'm trying to pose as, But more of a meandering Snake (For a foolish mind) Curves of instances Untraceable. And I was stunned At a gradual realisation That I'd not really like To retrace my steps

  How long Should I wait For inspiration to strike, For that one moment That would define my life. You say I should work hard So tell me how many poems I need to write Before being recognised as a bard. Endless wait Inaction Such has become time.

  If reminded of Your own mortality, Would you ponder over it And see it as an inevitable end, Or would you choose to live In ignorance? It is immaterial, Because the living only matters, And it's ways; Knowing the ends Doesn't grant you knowledge Of the means.