Once more I sit here, Pondering on what to say to myself. What poetry could come out of this numb soul, I wonder? But all I can feel is the Sunlight, sneaking into the room Caressing my face.

It is always a gentle reminder of all things, Good things and bad things, Things I have done and things I must do. The reminder is only one, but for all. For all the things I have in mind.

Now, what if I decide to do nothing at all? Total inertia. Then what of me? Then I would just not be? That sounds like a faint notion of heaven to me, The not be.