Paintbox

Pins

I loose pins like I loose memory.
They fall down the sides of desks and collect dust,
Like the old times forgotten, locked away in the back of my mind.

I loose pins like I loose time.
There aren't enough hours in the day to complete essays,
Not enough seconds to read or write.

I loose pins like I loose sight.
Sight of where I am going, what I want to do.
My middle path has overgrown, abandoned and ominous like a haunted forest.

I find pins like I find happiness.
Underneath socks, lying on stairs, attached to tins.
They spring out and glisten in the light, like happy moments that catch me off guard and stick to my mind.

17.2.16