Impatience

it's like

Ink rotting off the paper, a slow decay,

like a scarlet fire burning, dwindles, and dies away,

a piece of white bread forgotten and turned to green,

just a part of the narrative, the mise-en-scene,

but it's me that feels transition, this post-modern teen,

a mighty looming mountain, down to a grain of sand

thats trapped in this egg timer, slowly flowing and-

with all my fixed attention, digression banned,

half way done now, i start to beg,

and balance a plate atop my head,

how long does it take,

to boil an egg?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[RivkaZ]

...and how many licks DOES it take to get to the center of a tootsiepop? I really really really like this poem. It has made my day sparkly. Thank you.

[Dawn]

You have an uncanny sense of humour and make me smile at the end of both of these poems, Well done.
Dawn