Though he was not penniless
His soul felt as if it was broke
It was a fear that was hidden
About which he rarely spoke.
Once he looked out his window
If only to steal a glance
The one time he felt joy
Maybe even to have a second chance.
But as soon as that time came
Just as quickly it went
And he questioned his life
Whether it had been misspent.
He remembered the ocean
The smell of the sea
And how it felt
To set his soul free.
He wanted to go out
And yes he wanted to try
But the feeling would soon pass
Like a fruit on the vine that would die.
Did he do enough
Did he really do his best
Or did he trudge along
In a line behind the rest.
Yesterday is the past
And soon to be gone will be today
The writer put his pencil down
For he had nothing left to say.
(c)2014 T.LaFountain