I sit at my desk,
It is a total mess,
Half opened books, look back at me,
I see scattered words,
Wondering why
I have brought them here?
I'm not sure.
Wilfred Owen,
Looks up at me,
Accusingly,
As if to say,
"Time is short"
"Do not get caught daydreaming"
I'm not sure.
I stare at the walls
Hoping for inspiration,
But agitation
Is all I feel.
If I grip my pen harder,
Will that seem real?
I'm not sure.
I want to write,
I truly do,
Shall I wait,
Til tonight,
But then, if I do,
Will you read?
I'm not sure.
I'll tidy my desk,
I think,
And try not to blink
At my foes,
If that's how it goes,
I'll try again tomorrow.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
