Running out of Time

I was thinking how lately I can't seem to find the time to write or paint. I continue to take daily photos, but I can't find the time to post/share them.

But the choices are mine to make during the day. I'm the one choosing to garden or writing emails over painting or working on my book-writing. I'm the one making busy work that doesn't fill my soul.

It's funny, but the older I get the longer it takes to get things done. Where I used to check off many items on my to-do list, now I'm happy if I can get to three. Sadly, those three or four seldom have anything to do with my books or painting. 

Such is life.

Running out of Time

My ship’s body

lies broken

on the ocean floor

Debris, the bits of me

still holding to life

floats upriver on the tide

into a silent swamp

sticks to reeds

and debris from others

also just barely hanging on

Slow decay

stagnant water

leaches the life-source

from my soul

there’s no energy left

My once-vibrant ship

now has only few bubbles

rising from its broken hull

sea life already takes hold

What went wrong?

Why couldn’t I fulfill my dreams?

The papers of my stories

photographs of the many things

that caught my eye

the paintings and drawings

that made me feel alive

dissolve in salt water

I drown in my own tears.

--Sasha Wolfe