Poetry

A quiet morning

A quiet morning when all is dark
Implements scattered across the desk
Like random thoughts that cross my mind
Without a purpose, unrefined

Echoing briefly, then—exeunt
To be replaced by what comes next
A futile medley, it would seem,
Akin to slideshows that I dream

Outside the window, the world is still
Inside my head, against my will
Synapses madly push and prod
I cannot seem to rein them in

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