Poems of the Atmos

The Wishing Jar. January- 18th March, 2018.

2017 always had a feeling of expectation.

I don't know if it had to do with the dix-sept millennium implication

But a sense of finality haunted me as the weeks flit by.

Then I crossed that crossroad and made my decision,

In the last month over the height of the holiday's season,

To write about more than dreams and wishes.

2018 was to be a year of accomplishments;

A time to do what I never did but promised- artistic abandonment-

Which leaves me with bittersweet emotions of apathy and regret.

The first month passed with late mornings binging on anime

And the earlier hours in writer fervor- as expected of me-

But with very little consideration to my academics though graduation determines my next two years.

Then February went with no school hour

And myself lacking project hypothesis though interests linger to scour.

March is here and time is wasted.

~¤~

Time waits for no one.

After Toki wo Kakeru Shōjo one would think that I'd run towards the future-

Always.

But I sit still wishing for seconds to become hours.

A fool, that is what I am.

Have I truly entered my 22nd year of living?

Why does the heart of youth beat in me still?

This idiocy of wishing the rain pattered longer- more softly-

Or that the sunset would last longer and cradle my room warmly as the clattering of keys fills the silent room-

Or that I don't have to think of food because my character's lives mean more like they aren't transient dreams.

Foolishness. Stupidity.

This is the bittersweet air of immaturity.

Still, a soft smile hangs beneath ridiculing eyes and I merely sigh.

"March is Timely" indeed.

How amusing that I feel the cobs of time at the last leg once more-

As always.

Behind me are my two decades of innocence, freedom, and youthfulness.

In front of me are unknown years of Providence's measure.

The wheels are covered in cobs gathered over rifts of fate's timeline

And they continue to turn for me.

Time is a décor. My wishing jar is full.

"Publish that second novel" reads the first note.