Apathy

by Richard Mcallister

Never did I think I’d be one, to sit amongst time,

languishing in mine own ineptitude, to deal with daily grinds.

But here I sit and ponder, watching the seasons dance,

beyond mine own perception, gone are they with a glance. 

Step up I tell myself, on days like the present day, 

shake mine own fist at the world, refuse to wilt and stay.

But apathy is a killer, a slow and dreadful foe,

fighting mine own inner drives, to find destiny’s eager glow.

Never did I think I’d be one, to sit amongst time,

but here mine own path is lost, so I sit and make a rhyme.

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