Rough Draft

These are some things I just jotted down a couple seconds ago. They will get tons of polishing, for sure.

Time

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock continues its never-ending race around the world. Never stopping, never changing.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Startled by nothing, with no feelings for others. People are broken, set aflame. With no compassion, or moment of silence, the clock never stops.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Worlds may fall apart, but no matter how desperately people cry for more time, it is merciless.
Tick. Tick. Tick. It gives you one chance to live, one moment at a time. But no more than that. Time does not compromise.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Time does not reprimand, but lets your consequences roll out in front of you. It mocks you. Time is cruel.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Time only gives one chance. What are you doing with yours?

Inspiration

Oh, to be inspired.

To write a poem that grabs people minds.
And doesn’t let go for days.
With clever phrases and "thee"s and "thou"s
Which start a poetical craze.

Sun in summer or woes of winter.
Autumn’s red leaves or spring’s cheer.
Simple things are turned into wonders.
Turning words such as ball to sphere.

I wish I had that superpower.
Yes, how is it acquired?
All I’ve got is a silly old poem.
Whining ‘bout being inspired.