11:11

I need to stop worrying.

 

In the absence of what goes wrong in my life

I sit here, redirecting my thoughts

To a much higher elevation; but is it only temporary?

Does it shrivel into nothing as my patient grows weary?

Of course it does, it always will

This is life. This is what happens when we meet the world,

And love, and lust, and loss of words

Or even in knowing that our honeysuckle days become short

And the sunset has grip like no other

In dealing with it, I sit on

I grate down the clock with my eyes; bullets are my pupils

Small, in depth masterpieces of what could have been

And what could have died

Nearly wading in a pool of thoughts

They float gently, but risqué, are they?

Do they reveal all but too little? Too much?

Despite my indifference in the way I see love

My wishes draw closer, and my worries away

And soon, my doubt dies, at 11:12

Just as I counted on; just as I wished

Author's Note

NO 11:12 is not a typo. analyze it the you'll understand.