Hydrate Time
Must I be patient for my own demise?
I do not know what is out there,
beyond crests of time,
pillows of snow
&
schemes of wonder.
Lust towards unknown
and unheard of
realities.
Is this real?
Or am I dreaming again.
Lost in the folds of forced expression.
Like a broken faucet,
constantly dripping
but doing my duty:
keeping it hydrated.
This poem is about:
Me