Penstroke, scribbling on the page—
Life is not a simple stage.
Predetermined before me.
Life is what’s ahead of thee.
Love and flowers, bliss, and joy—
I pull back because I am coy.
Wishing for a different view.
Wishing I knew what to do.
Wanting more than worldly chatter.
Insides churn, my brain—it rattles.
How can I abide the clamor?
How can I put down the hammer?
Pray for silence—then I cringe.
Boredom fills me, so I binge.