The remaining twelve hours
Have been spent watching flowers
As they shut then open from dusk to dawn
And if any is many
Will a discarded penny
Be the much needed charm for the brains against brawn
Can the mind conjure up further powers?
When one’s strength matches that of a fawn
Have you really let go
Given up this sad show
That takes all your thoughts and steals them away
Towards unrequited fruits
From labors minute
To which you unwittingly dedicate most of your day
Can it really be worth all you throw?
Are you capable of more than you say?
And as time passes, the wounds will be healed
But without Neosporin they will visibly scar
You’ll be whole again but slightly marred
With hopes they’ll obscure as your skin might stretch
Or just fade with the age of the eons