My hourglass is stinted in paradox time,
frozen in blank space pouring rhymes,
I do not wish for sand through the vial,
but I have no direction living in denial.
Peace is a fortune not in my cookie,
the paper only reads my hopeless destiny,
I took a chance but still can\'t swim,
this island of depression turned me grim.
To all the loves I\'ve loved in my life,
my children, my possession most prized,
ages ago I read Catcher in the Rye,
a present-day Poe consumes my mind.
Emily felt a funeral in her brain,
I know better than anyone of going insane,
for my mind to die before my age,
I just keep writing and turn the page.
A raven on my fence lingers my eye,
is it Poe here to tell me hi?
I scribble faster to show him rhymes,
but even he disappears before I sigh.
An old soul stuck in present time,
misunderstood beyond a grasp,
my only friends that comprehend
are acknowledged by words of their past.
What is a poet but letters ignored
until death catches up to me?
My stories, when they are finally read,
let my soul rest in incoherent peace.