Seconds tick, minutes pass
I know, by now, I should be asleep.
How often, will poetry start
with seconds, and minutes?
For how long, will it also come second?
Words, along with 6am, start.
Lines form and glare
Dazzling in this shrouded room.
Seconds tick, minutes pass
I know, by now, I should be asleep.
Consciousness, breaks
long before day duties do,
I know, by now, I should be dreaming.
Yet, poetry starts.
Lines form and glare
and here we are.
