Wasted Days

So many wasted days
I scarcely dare to count them
Turgid, tempestuous days
That muddied life’s pure fountain
 
So many restless nights
Ticking through each hour
Inane, insomniac nights
When sweet sleep turned to sour
 
So many futile ways
They stack up like a mountain
Dead-end, diversionary ways
I scarcely dare to count them
 
So many false bright lights
Each beacon and each tower
Manic, magnificent lights
Ticking down each hour
 

Wayne Visser © 2011

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