the dance of the ink riddled fingers

child’s plan, God’s play.

Posted in the poet-tree by enisea on 13/08/2011

Ambitions and schedules
All of my plans
They trickle through fingers
and run off my hands

I don’t understand
After years of the same
Why I haven’t yet learned
To stop dreaming this way

With checklists of twenty
And a hundred “to-do”s
You’d think I’d by now
Realised my planning taboo

So I fall on my face
At least 3 times a day
And I’m often disgraced
By pathetic displays

Dear Lord, please explain
Why I’m this bad at life
Why I try catch the world
But shriek and drop it in strife

A million things please you
So I try travel miles
To present to you ten thousand things
I know will make you smile

Alas my hands are only small
My strength is even lesser
And with these seven little things
Don’t expect them to impress ya

When love is enough
Then please let me know
I’m in so much pain
There’s so much to grow

These failures are tiresome
My willpower, weak
These seesaw emotions
Bid me indulge more in sleep

Like a three year old you’ll find me crying
“I can’t do this, I can’t! I swear!”
You’ll probably assemble your own Father’s Day gift 
For I’m incompetent without you there.

With a laugh and a sigh
We’ll slowly progress
Though impatience is one of those things
I know best

I really must learn
To stomach healthy practice
To stop crying over spilt milk
And be a little less actless


One Response

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  1. enisea said, on 13/08/2011 at 11:59 PM

    24 hours later… having read this over again.

    What a horrible poem.

    So little rhythm. Not my finest hour.

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