As The Clock Ticks On

My spirit laments as the clock ticks on
as days pass, lacking notable progress,
duplicated after each mocking dawn.

My mind’s ambition drives me to distress.
Contentment, a foreign virtue to me…
Short of historical is not success.

Alive are the great minds of history,
living through their works’ immortality
while I judge my art as merely debris.

Grappling with self-loathing brutality,
my soul’s encouraging whispers foregone.
Dismal haze subdues my mentality.

Perhaps tomorrow, hope I’ll chance upon.
My spirit laments as the clock ticks on.