Drums beat in the distance,
A rhythm I should know but have long forgotten.
I stumble and ver, unable to keep to its course.
People march past, in perfect time with this tune.
Family. Friends. The odd acquaintance.
Perfectly manicured to someone else's time.
I lag behind, bogged down by insistent norms,
Unable to keep within society's deadlines.
No life. No job. No future.
Only the seeds of a dream.
And a legacy that destroys every preconception.
Within every breath, every sound,
Inspiration is waiting underneath each moment.
The words that come are mine to possess,
But slink away like the tongues of my enemies.
Why won't they stick around to hear the drums?
Adjust to their timing, instead of swaying erratically?
The words are my predestined path after all,
But they insist on dragging me off my straight course.
Onto this misguided trail of thorns and barbed wire,
Where every failure is broken glass.
I stand amid these shattered remains, wondering.
Will these words ever transform into something,
To clear my path of rubble?
And, in turn, recalibrate society's timelines,
To drown out the ticking of everyone’s clock?