December #8

I let my days fly by in idle sleep.
No fires burn within my mind or heart,
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.

I dream of wonders, rising from the deep,
of novels, poems, perfect from the start,
yet I let my days fly by in idle sleep.

My mind is full of thoughts and dreams that leap
from point to point, but will they stay so sharp?
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.

One day my mind will only slowly creep,
And I should grab my chance and do my part -
But I let my days fly by in idle sleep.

My pen can only throw my thoughts in heaps,
and so I fear the critic's cruel remark.
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.

But ash can crumble, fall without a peep,
no shaking steadiness like that of Art.
I let my days fly by in idle sleep.
I seem to think my soul of ash will keep.