The holidays mope around
Like large villainous clouds
Voyaging, to snuff out the sun

The pressing deeds of the mind
Become slothful worms
Being ushered along, by their minuscule needs

There is hardly movement
In the drawn out moments
Of faultless ease

When no hour is too late
And dreams, grow bold and broad
By the empty, wavering seconds

It’s the slow ruination of time
Where iron-will is crushed
By the stampede of bliss

If you enjoyed this poem, you can find more like it in my latest collection of poetry titled: “The Slums of Nightfall.” This month, my book is on sale for 40% off of its listed price. Use the code: LME2VVL5 during checkout when you purchase on Createspace You can find even more impressive titles for the same discount here: End of Year Book Blowout Sale 40% OFF Offer ends December 31st.