poem: the thief

If i had no bills to pay,
i would spend
a month
locked away,
writing feverishly,
ignoring
all the pain
and distraction
so that these stories
can be finished.

This is what i crave,
especially now
that i am too disjointed
to fulfill my dreams
effortlessly.

For the first time,
i require stillness
and quiet
to coax
this reluctant lover.

Writing
has to be
seduced.

All of the odd jobs
that i use to survive
feel like betrayal;
i seem incapable
of meeting
my unrealistic standards
because these words
constantly
fondle me.

So, i am again a thief,
stealing time away
from the vital,
the necessary,
and the sane
to dance
with this ink
flowing from my pen.

16 december 2015

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